Teardrop Bureau
by Sono la Notte
Summary: A lonely baker girl longs for a companion. "Someone interesting, someone like me." But when she gets more than she wishes for, how will she handle it? And what happens when the Templars gets involved? Altair is slightly OOC, Altair x OC Pairing
1. Prologue to Epilogues

_A/N: This is a story for an idea I had for a long time, and I finally decided to write it, and it originally started out as an original fic, so I decided to incorperate Assassin's Creed into it._

**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. Believe me, if I owned Assassin's Creed, Altair would be doing _much_ different things than jumping off of buildings...XD**

* * *

Lacrima Bureau loves cake. With all her heart. She spills love into every one she makes, and fells the woes of heartbreak every time she sells one. Good thing her parents and employees persuade her that "money is good. Bankruptcy is _baaad_". Despite her feelings for her creations, she rarely eats any, though every person testifies that they keep getting better. Using her knowledge of Greek mythology, she would compare herself to Cronus, the Titan, who "ate his children, and got the short stick later." None of those close to her questions her ways, odd as they are. Every month, she manages to create a new cake to the menu of her cake shop, 'The Bureau'.

Being in business for three years catches up with you fast.

The Bureau was Lacrima's seventeenth birthday present. Before then, it was her parent's Italian restaurant, also named The Bureau. Before then, it was her grandfather's Laundromat, and before then, it was a knife and gun shop. She knew the history of that store all the way back to 1784, when it was first built as a general store, although it also doubled as a storage unit for alcohol during the Prohibition Act, and a stop-off point of the Underground Railroad. But Lacrima, determined not to break family tradition, renovated the kitchen, refurbished the small apartment upstairs, and moved in.

First, she took a mallet at hacked out all the unwanted things that got in her way. After her brief destruction, she collaborated with her designer friend, Romeo Matheson, and they set to work. Skylights went in, and drab ceilings went out. Onto the walls, stucco reigned in a dusty, yet kingly yellow. The old windows were taken out, and replaced with more walls. The enclosure was warm and cozy, and on good days, the skylight could retract and let in the warm light, perfect for eating cake with. The dingy floorboards of times past were yanked out, but reused to make the low tables scattered around the room. Underneath the tables, and mostly everywhere else, colorful cushions and exotic rugs littered the new stone floor with life. Soft chatter from customers, employees, or any mixture of the two drifted over everything, calming the mind and relaxing your body. The pictures of the Middle East were framed and hung all over the wall, memories of Lacrima's trip to Jerusalem, Damascus, and Syria. Her travels were spontaneous and short, but each ended in her coming home speaking a new language. First English, then Spanish, then Italian, then French, Greek, Hebrew, and finally Arabic. "How do you keep up with all this random junk you bring back from Wherever-Land?" her sister, Jasika, would often say, followed by "First, you open a cake shop. A _cake_ shop. Not just a cake shop, it's a _Middle-Eastern _cake shop! Next, you study _Greek_ mythology! That's just useless, unless you feel like writing a book or something! Third, the family tree. Don't even get me _started_ about the family tree…"

Behind the display counter, there is a beautiful, wall-covering family tree, painted black against the yellowy paint (the wall was flattened out here, as to make the calligraphic artist's work easier than on the stucco). The names go all the way back to the late twelfth century, with Marid Al-Sayif. Try as she might, Lacrima couldn't seem to find any information on Marid. The names branched out along the wall, and there was a good five feet left, as to leave room for future marriages and births. But Lacrima said she would never marry, for every man she's had a relationship with encouraged her to leave the shop behind and get married (except for her father, who is quite the opposite).

From the outside, The Bureau looks just like any other shop on the street. Hand-painted sign, dull brown door…inside is a secret. No one is allowed to take pictures inside the store. It's a rule.

To get to the top apartment, you have to go through the kitchen, out the back door, up the fire escape, and through another door. It enters into Lacrima's small personal kitchen. Directly forward is the even-tinier living room, with a squashed couch, a tiny monitor connected to the internet, and a stack of videogames one of Lacrima's old boyfriends left behind when he stormed out. If you were to backtrack through the hall, and take a turn in through the door on the left, you would be going into Lacrima's bedroom. A queen-sized bed takes up most of the space in the small room, and a miniscule closet holds the clothes of both Lacrima and her boyfriends of the past. Across from the room is a bathroom, with a good enough shower, and a toilet.

Lacrima looks good. She got her looks from her mother, who modeled for a fashion company before she got laid off. After, she met Lacrima's father and became a waitress, one of the reasons why the restaurant did so well. Her hair is long and dark, and hangs in waves down her back. Her skin is dark, but just enough so she can look exotic and American at the same time. Her unnaturally bright blue eyes are what attract men to her, although her curvy body adds to those reasons well enough. In her 21 years she's seen a lot, and she's seen happiness.

But she's never been happy.

* * *

_Review please? I have a habit of killing off characters after I get bored with them..._

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	2. Prayers to None

**Disclaimer: I OWN HIM!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAA!! -gets chased by Ubisoft's evil imagination- FINE FINE FINE FINE FINE!! Don't hurt me, pplz.**

* * *

This was killing me. My days were turning into repetition, and it hurt. Over and over and over again. It seemed everything was the same, punctuated by words, people, and faces. I sighed, like every other morning.

I got up and took a quick shower before getting dressed and sulking downstairs. It started to rain.

* * *

This was killing me. My days were turning into repetition, and it hurt. Over and over and over again. It seemed everything was the same, punctuated by words, people, and faces. I sighed, like every other morning.

I got up from my bed and got dressed. The frigid chill over Masyaf blew into my room. I sighed again, pulling up my hood as it started to rain.

* * *

The rain was a sign that I shouldn't even open today. An old superstition that I didn't abide. I was already in a bad mood, the kind that made me feel as fragile as a doll. I didn't need some old wive's tale to break me down harder.

I was grateful that my hair was already wet from the shower, because the rain drenched my clothes in the short journey down the fire escape. I wanted to cry. I wanted to rip open the sky and let my tears rain out over everything, and just let go. The last eight months had been hell for me.

The guitar shop wept blues on my left and the doves cried out woefully in the park. This was depressing. Why is everything else crying but me? I finally found the right key to the door. The rain was strangling me to my bones. I shivered once, gooseflesh covering my arms, making the hairs stand on end before the rain beat it back down. I sighed as I watched this, one hand on the doorknob. My eternal mask of happiness swept over me, and I walked in.

* * *

I didn't want to leave my room that morning, but yet again, Al Mualim "requested my presence". Why always me? Why not one of those eager novices, or Mal—no. Not Malik. I abruptly remembered that he was grief-stricken over the loss of his brother, which he still holds me accountable for. Another fault of mine. I set my face blank and left the room, hating this day.

I walked up the stairs as noisily as I could, to get a point across not only to the novices in my way, but to anyone else passing by that _I was not in a good mood_. I stood silently at the arch that lead into the Assassin Grand Master's office. "Master?"

* * *

People were already doing their jobs silently when I walked in. _The rain must be getting to us all,_ I thought. I greeted my three bakers by name. They mumbled their hellos, and it took everything in me not to fire them for their lack of enthusiasm.

Johnny Campbell was only older than me by a few years, but he still loves acting like a child. His specialty cakes were brightly-colored ones in the shapes of everything from Spongebob Squarepants to the Disney Princesses. He had spiked blue hair, and a gauge in his right ear. The first thing he told me when I was interviewing his was that he was gay, and he didn't like criticism in the workplace. He was a very laid-back type, and works great with kid parties when I didn't have the patience to. His eyes were a warm green that laughed even when he was in a bad mood.

Karina Henderson was a year older than me, and we were practically friends, if it weren't for the fact that we worked together and I was her boss. We argue like a married couple (her parents were divorced when she was in the seventh grade) over everything from cake to the skylight (long story) but we always make the work go first. She keeps her dirty brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, like me, and has a scar in the shape of an X on the top of her left hand. When I asked her about it, she didn't reply immediately, she just said "Cooking accident" like it was no big deal. Over the years I've worked with her, she's given some hints, although she likes to lead me on the wrong path. She's given me everything from "Atlantic City Mafia" to "Zimbabwe witchdoctor". She likes to make wedding cakes, which I _absolutely_ detest.

Mary Rider is a year younger than me, and had dropped out of high school the year prior. The only thing she had succeeded in was Culinary and Home Ec. I told her to get her GED and then she would be able to get a raise after she asked. She passed it with flying colors and an almost-perfect score. She had brown eyes that seemed to me like they were ripped from a puppy dog (I commented on this one time, and she came to work with some of those color contacts). Her hair was blonde, but shy. She was always shy, even with her cakes. They're always light shades, like baby blue or pink, but they always taste sweet. Like tea party cakes.

My smile had faltered when I heard how out of it they were. But before any of them could look up at my silence, I had turned quickly to my station. On the whiteboard, there were orange Post-It notes lined up. I picked up the easiest one, trying to blot out my mood.

The Blue Moon cake. Blueberry batter, bake in a circle, cover in frosting.

The Cupcake Cake Cup. Five cupcakes, in a bowl of cake. Cover in frosting. Good for sleepovers.

I realized there was still no monthly cake for September. I sat down on the edge of the counter, thinking.

The timer beeped for the Blue Moon cake and I took it out. The cake looked fine enough, and I let it cool. Hopefully the frigid silence would speed up the process.

Suddenly an idea popped into my head. The Loneliness Cake. I crept into the storeroom and got out some old rum. I took a swig, biting down the bitterness. _One for me, one for the cake_.

* * *

"Do you know why you are here, Altaïr?" Al Mualim asked me. I ran my mind through what I'd done over the last few days; it was almost disturbing to receive the answer from my mind that was _Absolutely Nothing_. I shook my head. "I have a mission for you." Was his reply, and if I didn't know any better, I would've groaned as he continued. I felt my consciousness slipping out of my fingers like sand. "Now, don't think this odd, but you won't be killing anybody." He studied me to see if he would receive a reaction, but I remained uninterested, as far as he knew. I actually thought that he was being a tad off, for I was his red blade, his best killer. Why was I not killing anybody? Not that I cared. "You will be retrieving and object of interest for me…" I zoned out, my mind drawing up blanks as I tried to comprehend what the hell he was saying. I tuned back in when he said "You will receive more information in Jerusalem. You may go." I turned on my heel and stalked off angrily. What did I look like, a carrier pigeon? _A hearty disgrace for the eagle…_

* * *

By the time I was done with my fifth cake, my mood had slipped, fell, and Karina had slipped in it. I had snapped at her for idly humming while I was measuring alcohol. The three of them gave me an odd look when they saw the bottle on the counter next to me, and I barked at them, "Do your work or your all fired!" I wasn't being drastic…not this time.

Finally, after about ten minutes into inventing the cake, I gave up. My hands were shaking as I threw the bowl in the trash can, and I walked back to my station. I had nothing left to do but invent the cake.

_Come on, Lacrima. You can do this. Think. Think. Think. Think. Sing in me, Muse…_

I gripped the counter in front of me. My lonely heart beat quickly; it was the only sound in the room. It was clairvoyant to what came next. My nose stung and my eyes blinked uncontrollably—an easy barrier for the tears to break through. I sniffled, but to no avail.

The vision blurred, and I began to cry.

* * *

How stupid did he think me? I gripped the reins of the horse, and as if sensing my anger, she stopped. The rain was getting considerably worst, and I considered turning back. I gave her a half-hearted nudge, and kept going. I felt so distant from the world. I needed to be somewhere else. But where? Jerusalem? I shook my head; thinking wasn't the best thing to be doing while on a horse…especially in the rain.

I decided to stop after another hour and let the beast get a break. She gladly trotted over to a nearby stream, though she could've easily just opened her mouth. We were barely fifty miles out of Masyaf. It was another two hundred miles to Jerusalem, but I wasn't sure if that was the right number. For a moment, I was washed over with panic, and I felt utterly lost. Then that odd feeling of needing to be somewhere else. Or was it the rain? I stood under a tree, waiting for the wet mare to trot back over to me.

I stared in the direction I was supposed to go. How will Malik be faring with the rain? I smiled slightly, picturing him dragging all of the pillows and carpets inside. I would have to watch my tongue around him.

After all, I wouldn't want to lose an arm.

* * *

Johnny had carried me upstairs after I had collapsed to the floor in tears. His stance had suddenly changed from "apathetic" to "leader" in a matter of seconds. He told all the others to go home, and to close the shop. His boyfriend, Tim, who runs deliveries for us, was just getting finished up with the cakes, I had heard later, and was giving Johnny a ride home. Tim didn't really work _for_ us, but he works for a delivering company around the corner. I'd made acquaintances with the owner through Johnny and eventually through Tim. Tim was sweet, and I'd have asked him out if it weren't for the fact that he was gay.

Thunder was rolling in by the time Johnny had me situated in front of the "television" with a cup of Ghirardelli hot chocolate, and the minute he left, I started crying some more. When I finally built up the courage to look at the picture of Mom and Dad on my nightstand, I started crying harder. Mom and Dad were dead. The picture next to them was me and Jasika. I smiled a little bit. I loved that picture.

* * *

After the break, I pushed the horse as quick as I could to Jerusalem, but I wasn't sure what I was doing. I prayed to any god that would listen that they could give me guidance. In an ashamed thought, I also asked of what Al Mualim had said.

After about five minutes, I got no response. The thunder growled at my back. I scowled at the gods.

* * *

We were in the 'Demolishing' stage of Operation: Cake Shop. I was standing next to her, one arm around her shoulder, one holding the handle of a rubber mallet that rested on my opposite shoulder. I was wearing a white T-shirt that said 'Feed the French' and a picture of a cake on it. Jasika had gotten it for my birthday when I was fifteen. With the shirt were a pair of black shorts, and some of my favorite work shoes. Jasika, on the other hand, was wearing a frilly blue top, and a purple _skirt_. Honestly?

My face was smudged with dirt and sweat, and tomato-red. I was smiling like the world depended on it; my dream was coming true—right in front of my eyes. I was sweating everywhere. I loved the heat of that summer day. I felt like I belonged with it.

Jasika was scowling at the scene, although she was eyeing Johnny in a corner. I told her later that he was gay, and I wished I had the camera again. She was only stopping by because she had gotten me lunch at a Mexican take-out restaurant. I had thrown the camera to one of the workers and he snapped the picture before my older sister could shrug me off.

I shook my head at the photo. Jasika would only make me feel worse.

* * *

When the horse had had enough, she became too stubborn to travel, and I was forced to find a dry patch of land to sleep in. I lit a fire under a large pine tree, and fell asleep within minutes.

When I awoke again, the rain was coming down even harder. I cursed myself and got back on the horse. I was about ten miles down the muddy road, soaked to the bone, and tired as hell, when I decided to try again.

* * *

I had fallen asleep on the couch, hugging the picture of me and Jasika to my chest. When I woke up again, it was late at night—almost eleven. Then, for reasons I'll never know, I started to pray.

* * *

_Dear God, send me a friend. Someone interesting, like me. Someone I can help. Someone I can love. God, you know my pain, so please don't give up on me as I have to you. Can you forgive me? I need someone to be there for, someone to be there for me. Please._

* * *

_Dear God, help me find my way. This rain is clouding my thoughts like it does the sky. I need to know what I'm looking for. Where do I need to be? Why? These questions are killing me, and I can't stand it. This loneliness as well. What do I even live for? It there even a reason to live? You know this, but some mornings, I have to tell myself 'Altaïr, get up'. I wish I could just stay asleep sometimes. Help me, please._

* * *

How was that for a first chapter!?

I wouldn't know, so review...

Please, I don't want to kill Lacrima or Altair this early in the story.

**Appreciation to my Story Alerters!!**

Love,

Bailey


	3. Tolerance to Barriers

_Wow I have a lot of time on my hands. I've been writing the main components in a journal before I sleep, and then I type it in the morning. No coffee added._

**Disclaimer: I don't own Altair...Santa, I've got _one_ more thing to ask from you...XD**

* * *

It rained and rained and rained on the world, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The horse finally came to the decision that we were now traveling, no matter that were we to look up, we would drown. I was forced to either ride the beast or let her go. It was cold; it was (obviously) wet; it wasa always the same shade of dull gray.

Gray, gray, gray. Everywhere. A novice would've hidden perfectly. This was depressing. I still hadn't gotten my answer from the gods, or God, in this case. I was impatient most of the time, and I resisted the urge to turn the horse around and run away from it all. I scowled at ever y tree. I mumbled curses at the rain, the road, the horse—but nothing really worked or satisfied me.

My gaze blurred and I suddenly felt very tired…

* * *

If the weather could've gotten any worse, it did. That night, the thunder was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. I made coffee and the spontaneous decision to clean things. I organized Brian's video games, laughing at some of the titles: 'Cold Blood 7', 'Headshot 3', 'My Bloody Lover's Revenge'—I put the cases down when they got riskier and riskier to say aloud without feeling embarrassed. I cleaned out my closet, and sorted my clothes—and Jake's. I smirked at the tattered T-shirts and slim cargo pants, remembering the men who've worn them. I cleaned coffee mugs in the kitchen—mine, and Matt's. I dusted the counters and cabinets, washing the plates—mine, and Michael's. Check that. Michael's _mother's_ plates. Memories of men, left behind.

It was Wednesday, so I didn't have to open. Not that anyone would be coming in, after my little episode, and the horrible weather. I had the day alone. But this loneliness was…peaceful, unlike yesterday's heart-wrenching _want_ for someone to cry to. I almost didn't want company.

Almost.

There was still that nagging feeling in the back of my head, the hangover of my hardcore crying. That sense that life wasn't complete. I shook it off as paranoia and called my sister, Jasika.

* * *

I had been over-run with fatigue, and I had fallen off of the horse and into the mud. Thank whoever was out there that I landed on my back, and that the horse didn't step on me. When I stood up, the rain was coming down in droves. Lightning was spooking the horse every five feet. The storm had us in her clutches now. I pushed the beast through the rain, looking back every so often at the direction of Masyaf. It was hard to breathe with all of the hard rain pelting you in the back. This was preposterous. Did I do something wrong? Did I not pray right, and instead the gods choose to unleash their peril on me? I growled and yelled at the horse to go faster. "Hyah! Go!" I shouted. The horse whinnied and, in turn, cantered up the hill in front of us.

Suddenly the rain all around us stopped when we were at the top of the hill. It was peaceful, but strange. I got off the horse. We must be nearing the eye of the storm. Then, the thunder roared at us, and I ran off, sprinting for cover. The horse stayed, looking at me in her last goodbye.

A great flash of gold, and I felt a tug from behind my navel, like a hook pulling me forward. It was nauseating, though I couldn't do anything to stop it. What was going on? I tried to scream, to yell, to shout, but I could not.

The gold blurred in front of me, and became streaks of silver, and black. The black began to invade over my vision, and I felt like I was passing out. I was totally immobile. My mind was racing. Where was I going? What was going on? What is this? When will it stop? Why is this happening?

My feet finally touched the ground, and I managed to get a breath in before I choked on the putrid air. The world twisted over, and my eyes watered. I fell to my knees, gasping. My hands met soft, yes muddy and wet, grass. Apparently wherever I was, the rain was just as bad here. My body shook and shivered in the horrid air. Why couldn't I breathe? I tried to force air into my lungs, but all I could do was cough and gasp.

The sensation of falling forward…then nothing.

* * *

Jasika was a psychologist, and a teacher for the Red Cross to teach volunteers first aid during the summer. She didn't look at people as "people", like I did. She looked at them like they were broken, and that they could be fixed. I was one of those people. I tried to explain that everyone had faults, that it was how human were programmed. They weren't made to be fixed. They were made to be broken, healed, and broken again. Nothing is ever perfect. "Not even you." I looked at her as she stared back at me with those evaluating eyes, like I was a science formula, and she was the chemist. The answer. She keeps trying to help me, but always ended up just ruining everything that I had built up.

"What do you mean, not even me?"

"Oh, please, Jasika. Ever since high school, you've always wanted to be 'Miss Perfect'. You don't think I was jealous of everything you did? Cheerleading squad? Mathletes? Star performer for every school play? You sang the National Anthem every time we had a rally, and I skipped out on them so I could study! Face it, ever since Mom and Dad died, you've been a wreck." I had crossed the line. This was a half a year when we had this conversation, and we hadn't spoken since. Her head snapped up, a scowl planted on her face.

"I'm not a wreck. I'm letting my feelings show, unlike you, who likes to keep things locked away forever!" I tried to protest that I didn't, but she just talked over me. "You own a _cake shop_, Lacrima. You sell _cake_. Where is that ever going to get you? Is everything you do just for entertainment? You took Greek Mythology, for God's sakes! You _majored_ in it, no less! And when I asked you why, you shrugged and said 'I wanted to' like it was no big deal! And what about all of those languages you took? You've only been to Jerusalem once, and you're suddenly hell-bent on learning Arabic. What are you, some kind of terrorist?"

"Get out." I whispered. She didn't move. "I said GET OUT!" I screamed at her.

She scoffed and turned on her heel. At the door, she said, "Call me before you do anything stupid. At least that's something I can do for you." She slammed the door, and left.

Now, I held the phone in my hand, my finger over the 'call' button. Her number was already dialed. I bit my lip, my mind rushing through for apologies. A clap of thunder so loud I nearly peed my pants made the decision for me. I squished the phone up to my ear, and sat down in my shower.

It rang once. Why was I doing this, I had so many other people I could call—

It rang twice. She's probably not even going to answer it. Is she still mad—

It rang three times. This is stupid, why am I calling her anyways—

"Lacrima?" Jasika sounded out of breath. I bit my lip. What was I going to say? All of my apologies to her were coming up short.

"Jasika—" I was cut off by her.

"Oh, L! I'm so sorry that I said those things to you! I didn't mean them! I was just angry, and I didn't know what to say! I didn't have anyone else to turn to. Will you forgive me?" her silence proved that she was waiting for me to say something.

"O-only if you forgive me. I had no place to say those things to you either. I mean, we're all we have left, right?" I could hear her smile on the other line.

"So, you sound really agitated. What's wrong?" that's Jasika for you—always jumping to conclusions.

"Well, I…I wanted to…get your point on this sort of thing…" I bit my lip at this, as though thoroughly embarrassed.

"Well, ask away. I won't charge you…" I could almost hear her think "_much_" in her head.

"Um, yesterday, I…" I told her the events up until now, and she listened intently (although she laughed when I told her about the cleaning) the whole way through. "…And then I decided to call you, to see what you…y'know, thought…" I trailed off, and was nervous about her silence. Talking with her in a laid-back way was always really hard, especially after Mom and Dad died eight months ago.

"You have a really bad case of…" my breath was being held, though she did not realize it. "The blues. Seriously, Lacrima? Loneliness? Go to the gym, go get some fresh air, go meet a guy. Someone nice." _I could've told you that_. Another man was _just _what I needed. See how _great_ that turned out the last eight times you said that?

"Thanks, Jasika. I'll call you when that happens." The thunder got louder, and I had to clamp my hands over my ears to blur out the noise. I stood up and went to the living room. The giant picture window that faced the park was illuminated with lights and rain.

"Bye, L." she sighed. The dial tone left behind buzzed around in my head, a bee in my cerebellum. The thunder got unbelievably louder. Where was I, a rock concert?

"A man?" I asked exasperatedly. The lightning flashed over the room, casting demonic shadows over everything. "Sure. That's just what I need. Another Brian." I kicked the couch. "Another Matt. A Michael." I kicked the wall. Okay, that hurt. "Another Jake. What will I do after the next one leaves, too? Will I get another 'It seemed like a good idea at the time'?" I yelled at the phone. Thunder blasted in my ears, making me jump. Was the storm in my apartment? A bright flash of light. I stopped in my ranting.

Lightning was not gold.

* * *

_Shorter than I had expected, and I think that's because I can't get my points across quick enough. My brain goes from here to Syria in 3.5 seconds. Suck it, BMW._

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	4. Actions to Question

_Heeey, what's up?! This chapter is what's up!! *groaner foul*_

**Disclaimer: THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM UBISOFT SAYING THAT LOLCATS-R-HOT DOES _NOT_ OWN ASSASSIN'S CREED. ALTHOUGH SHE AND HER FRIENDS ARE POINTING GUNS AT US TO SAY OTHERWISE. Have a nice day!**

* * *

Okay, going out in the rain that night was my first mistake. For one, the rain was now bothering me, now that my emotions were back from vacation. The bone-chilling weather roared in my ears and left me frozen on the balcony to the fire escape. "What the _hell_ am I doing?" I screamed at no one in particular. I think _this_ is what Jasika meant by "something stupid". I could hardly breathe, and I was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. All I could really think was 'go see what the strange flash of lightning was'. I _should _have been thinking 'let's not go see what the _lightning_ was in the middle of a _hurricane_ and stay inside and go to sleep'. My mind hadn't been alright for the last couple of hours, so I just ran with it for the time being. I slipped on my ass all the way down the stairs (yes, and the turn bend that led to the cake shop) but the pain didn't register until later. I fumbled for the hidden key under the third stair, and I finally unlocked the door. I shot through the cake shop.

Okay, first of all, yes, I was running this entire time. My body was doped up on adrenaline, and my mind was on overdrive. I could only register one word at a time, like "door key oh no faster faster open okay go run run run run run ow door key street cold black wet" and things like that. A proper English translation would be: I fumbled for the hidden key under the third stair, and finally unlocked the door. I shot through the kitchen. When I got into the actual shop, I had run into the front door. I unlocked it and darted out into the cold street. It was pitch black, for the streetlamps were blown out like candles. I stepped tentatively into the street, leaving the sidewalk. My body was shivering. "What the _hell_ am I doing?" I shouted again.

My legs dragged me forward until I met the other sidewalk. I fell onto my knees and got up again. This was killing me. My heart was like a jackhammer. I felt like I was on stage, again, when I was in the second-grade play. I was one of the minor rolls, but I felt like I was going to die in front of everyone, although the focus was on Jasika, who played the main roll of Cinderella. I played a servant at the ball. It was a good thing I was in the back, because when I met the eyes of one of the parents in the crowd, I fainted onto the ground. I was dragged off by one of the parent volunteers, and I knew that acting wasn't my forte. Nor was public speaking. But that's off topic. Back to the story.

The asphalt finally ended and I was graced by grass. Although I don't think 'graced' is the word, because the second my feet touched the muddy, wet, and cold terrain, I lost my footing and fell onto my face. The rain beat on my back for a couple of seconds before I got up. I groaned when my body responded to the pain of that night, but it wasn't all that much, considering that adrenaline was still laced through my bloodstream. My heart was banging on my ribcage, and I felt dizzy with anticipation. "What the _hell_ am I doing?!" I screamed for the third time that night. I had no control over my body. Literally, my mind was blank, the only thoughts were a rough 'get to the park'. Okay, I was in the park now. Where did I have to go? Finally my body let me have control back.

I fell to my knees, shaking. My hands sunk into the frigid mud, and I wiped them on my jeans when I got up. I bit my lip and stuck my hands out in front of me. "Hello?" I called once. All I could hear was the rain. My words were immediately swallowed up. "Is anyone here?" my voice was hoarse from screaming so loudly. Panicking, I fleetingly remembered that the storm was right over my head.

Unexpectedly, the rain ceased, and my ears buzzed. Okay, it _was_ a hurricane. I was in the eye of the storm. The sky flashed blue, although it wasn't lightning this time. It was a bright, Johnny-worthy blue that bathed the entire park in blue. I was breathless at the beauty. The sight was a living, breathing _Starry Night_. My breathless stupor was shaken off by the rumble in the not-so-distance. I spun my head around towards The Bureau and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized it was still there. I began walking back, laughing.

Until my laugh was silenced by tripping over something.

'Something' was actually a body. I shrieked and jolted up and scrambled back five feet. I realized that no, it wasn't dead, it was unconscious. The body racked in coughs and gasps, like someone had just strangled it.

Okay, this was weird. Why was a body out here, unconscious, where _lightning_ just struck? Lightning!! Suddenly, I was under this weird sensation that I should bring this person back inside with me before they die. I wrapped my arms around the person's wrists, which were covered in a soft (bud extremely dirty) material. In the blue light, I could tell that it was something white or gray.

First tug: two inches before I almost gave up. God, he weighed like two hundred pounds! I found out he was a guy when I had to hoist him up and my hands went over his (finely chiseled, extremely well-worked) chest. Was this guy a bodybuilder? He had a hood on over his head, and it fell off when I dropped him accidentally. Okay, I dropped him eight times, but that's beside the point. I made a point not to look at him, and I just focused on getting him into The Bureau and back to my apartment.

Wait. No, no, no, no, no brain. Baaad apartment. Why was I dragging this _random_ guy into my shop? Let alone, my _home_? For all I know, he could be a mental hospital escapee! I mean, with all the white cloth he's wearing, he could be! Against my better judgment, I managed to get back into the shop by the time the rain started to pick up again. This was crazy. This was crazy. This was crazy. Who was this guy? I was beginning to panic, but my body just kept dragging him through the shop, further and further past the point of no return. I nearly dropped him on the stairs (which I fell on again going up) and I managed to lose one of his shoes, but I didn't realize that until later. Wow, I was so stupid! I was shaking with fear, and I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn't change my mind, and the wind was picking up again, and it was rattling the staircase. With one hand, I was dragging the guy up the stairs (not an easy feat, I tell you), and with the other hand, I had a death grip on the wall. My breathing was short and scared, like a small animal in a hunting reserve. I slammed open my door when I got to the top (I had to put him down for _just a second_, but he still managed to slip down the flight of stairs) and dragged him in. I lugged his dead body down the hall, and into the shower, where I let warm water run over him. The electricity was out in the apartment, but I could see through the skylight that the lights in the shop were on.

I turned off the shower after about three minutes, and grabbed the portable heater from the living room. Aiming it for him, I turned it on and left him there. I barricaded the door from the outside with a chair, as to make sure he didn't get away. My actions were still confusing me, especially when I mopped up the floor by flashlight all the way to the kitchen door. I then went downstairs to wipe up the mud in the kitchen and the shop. Thankfully, the rugs and cushions were left clean—they're usually rolled up and stored on the sides of the store at the end of the day—so I only had to clean the floors and the door. When I got back upstairs, I undid the door, checking that he was still breathing, and then turned the heater off, throwing two towels and a couple blankets over his body. I attempted to tug off his shirt, but it was being held down by some sort of belt that I couldn't undo. I settled on taking his shoes off. I realized then that I had lost one of his shoes on the fire escape. I ran out and retrieved it before it could be blown away. I left his shoes by his body, and I sighed. I retreated into my room and stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a wet, muddy heap by the door.

"What the hell am I doing?" I whispered as I fell asleep.

* * *

It was warm, but cold. Something rough was wrapped around my shoulders, and it weighed me down onto the hard tile floor. Not that I could move, anyways. My head hurt, like I'd been clubbed. My robes were oddly pulled up, as if someone tried to pull them off, and they were soaking wet. Something dripped.

Where was I? I was in a small room, for I could easily hear my own breathing, and since I could not open my eyes, I couldn't tell if I was in Jerusalem or not. "Mal…ik." I tried to whisper, although my vocal chords weren't working. It ended up being a hoarse whisper that sounded painful. My arms felt overstretched. Someone had dragged me here. I tried to move my hand, but pain shot up my arm like an arrow. Did I stab myself with the hidden blade? All of my armor and weaponry was still on. Whoever this person was, they weren't cautious. Didn't they know an assassin when they saw one? I coughed again. Someone outside the door walked by quietly. I almost didn't register the noise. "Ma—" my body racked in coughs again, the acrid air around me stuffing its deadly venom into my veins. Was I being tortured? Then what was the gold light? They might've drugged me, but I had no recollection of anything except that I was on a hill, and then…gold, and black, and then the air was so putrid that I couldn't breathe.

My exhaustion was still bleeding through me. I struggled in a last-ditch effort to get up, but my hands fell to the tiles and the world around me turned black before it disappeared.

* * *

It was warm, and the world was bright once again. It had to be noon, but it was far too bright for the city. It was…yellower. And the air was cleaner. I took deep, satisfying breaths in and almost passed out. I opened my eyes to the world that was so familiar, yet so different how I would have imagined. I felt like I belonged here, as I stood up from my place in a hay pile. The warm sun beat down on my upturned face. The chatter of people all around me was roughly translated into Old World Arabic, though I understood every word. Where was I? People spoke of knights and cruelty. A woman, not fifteen feet from me, whimpered loudly as she was pushed to the floor by a group of four strangely-dressed men. They wore uniforms and turbans of emerald fabric, with a white cross over their chests. They yelled that she was a heretic, and that they were going to kill her.

The people around her just averted their gazes and walked past as if nothing was happening. Anger rose in me and I pushed forward through the crowd, my long dress snagging on the edge of a building. I cursed the fabric and managed to tug it off. With my momentum used to undo myself, I had managed to knock the woman out of the way, and instead, I had pushed myself into her place. She smirked and ran off. That little…

"Heretic! I'll have your hand for that!" the guard closest to me shouted. His spit launched itself onto my face, and I suddenly became very scared. Leave it to me to find trouble within the first two minutes.

"Please! I have done nothing wrong!" I tried to protest. One of them grabbed my arm and threw me across to one of the others. The guard that I slammed into threw me to the ground, and I landed painfully on my left arm. My head cracked against the stone, and I quickly pushed myself up. Something wet and warm leaked down my head. I gingerly probed my scalp. Sure enough, my fingers were coated in red, and I felt dizzy. "Stop that!" I yelled as another shoved me across the circle. Why was this happening? "You're hurting me!"

These corrupt guards were going to have it. The next man who tried to get a hold on me I was going to slap. My glare that I set upon them all seemed to get my idea across. I felt a tug on my sleeve. I whipped around, and raised my hand. It shot forward like an arrow, and connected with the man's face like a paddle. Almost the entire busy street stopped at the abruptly loud sound. I realized with horror that this was the wrong man to slap.

The majority of his face was covered by a white hood, so all I could see was the red mark I had made and his frightening scowl. His body was clad in white robes, and he had a dangerous array of weaponry on his person. I heard a low _shink_ sound and something plunged into my stomach. I gasped in pain; I couldn't breathe.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice low and husky. "Wake up." My vision was tunneling. "Wake up!"

* * *

_Sooo...Review?_

_I was just playing AC and I get so worked up at the non-use of contractioned (?) words like 'I've', 'haven't', and 'can't'. I just decided to flaunt my rage._

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	5. Immunity to Strange Things

_Woo-Hoo!! Double Post!!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altair or any AC characters, no matter how disgustingly naive they can be.**

* * *

I awoke with my head throbbing more than before. Seemingly more energized than before, I managed to move my arms a little bit. They felt like they hadn't been used in days. My eyes were still sealed shut. Rotating my shoulder, I felt life surge through my muscles. I tentatively lifted one arm a little. _Bump, bump, bump_. My brain against my skull. I swallowed nauseously. Something on my back moved. I froze. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I scrubbed my eyes open. It was hard to take in. I was in a white tile room, like a bathhouse, but exponentially smaller, and cleaner.

I coughed again, hoping not to disturb whatever was on my back. I reached for my throwing knives. Holding one in my right hand, I quickly jerked around and stabbed the creature into the wall. My knife was embedded in plaster. I stared in shock for a few moments before I laughed harshly. It was not a creature. It was a blanket. How could I be so stupid? I pushed myself up with my arms and managed to stand in my white entrapment. I pulled the knife out of the plaster and cleaned white flakes off it before I stored it back inside my belt.

On three walls there was tile. On the fourth wall there was a sheet of what looked like glass and metal. When I touched it, I recoiled in shock. My hand seemed to bend it at my will! I guardedly repeated the motion and the same result happened. All the sheet did was swing back into place. I noticed that it was hanging on steel rings at the top, and the rings were surrounding a long white bar. With one finger, I flicked at the bar. It rang like metal. Pushing the pad of my finger on the bar to stop the noise, I was greeted with silence. I had not alerted anybody.

Warily, and with suspense, I pushed the strangely smooth sheet forward. The rings on the top jingled like money in a coin purse. I froze. My eyes darted around faster than I could register. No one else was in the room but me, and there were no disturbances outside. Lifting my leg, I gently placed my bare foot on the other side of the tile. I jumped slightly. It was cold. I could not see the floor. I was too busy looking at the space in front of me. The sheet slipped from my hands, and I released the hidden blade. My head was whirling.

The walls were white, and smooth-looking. The floor was also smooth, and had variations of blue and white tiles in squares. On the wall furthest from me was the door. I started to take a step toward it, but I jumped back at the sound of my bare feet slapping against the floor. My robes were damp, and there was an open window. The window reminded me of prison windows: up high, and heart-crushingly small. Was I in a prison? Under the window sat this strange sculpture. I had heard about some people in England that had their 'contemporary' art, but this was just insane. It was almost as white as the walls. It went up about mid-thigh on me, and it had a sort of lid. Reaching out with my good hand, my right, I lifted it up. It could sit on the back part of the sculpture like a trapdoor. With cautious eyes, I peered inside. There was clear water inside it! Was it a bowl? A well? Immediately, my mouth was parched at the sight of the water. I knelt down on the ground.

Using my right hand, I scooped up some of the water. My left hand braced my body against the well. Raising my hand to my mouth, I sipped at it, tasting for any poisons. Only the fact that the water smelled rather odd was the only thing I noticed. I took a couple more handfuls before I was finally quenched.

Standing up again, I shut the lid (it was probably the right thing to do) and examined the rest of the room. There was a mirror hanging on the wall, and it was very clean, like it belonged in a palace. So I was now in a dungeon. But, a well-furnished dungeon. Beneath the mirror, another bowl on a pedestal (this time without water) was standing. There were three metal fixtures. I grabbed the one in the middle. It didn't move, no matter what direction. The fixtures on the left and right were in the shape of crosses. So I was kidnapped by wealthy Templars. In the center of the crosses, there were letters, bearing 'H' and 'C'. The 'H' was red, and the 'C' was blue. Was this a trap? I left them alone. Next to the bowl, there was a dresser. I opened and closed some of the drawers, and there weren't any clues to where I was. There were strange, yet colorful bottles with pictures of women with seductive faces and hair that seemed to have exploded on their heads. Were these the fates of the people before me? In another drawer, there were all sorts of odd things: hair brushes and combs, and tools obviously meant for torture. There were sandy pink boards that were rough against my skin, small, but heavy metal objects that just _looked_ plain scary. There were other things too, but I got frightened and I closed all the drawers.

The door was white. Next to it was a strange little thing on the wall that had some sort of _thing_ sticking out of it. I decided not to touch it. Maybe it would kill me. Wrapping a couple of inches of my sleeve around my hand, I turned the knob of the door and went out. I checked both ends of the hall. Nothing. On one end there was a huge window that stretched about my height up and two of me sideways. There were curtains drawn over it, so I couldn't see the view outside. I shook it off as unnecessary and looked the other way. There was a sort of table that sat in front of another one of those bowls. Whatever they were, they seemed quite popular here. There was a large, white cabinet that was almost my height a few feet next to it. Padding over, I raised a couple of fingers to it. It was cool.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sort of shout from behind me. I whipped around, my short blade out, along with my hidden blade. There was nothing. Was it my imagination playing tricks on my paranoia? I scowled and put my weapons away. The sound echoed in the room. Where had it come from? I remembered there was a door down the hall from the room I was in. I crept over, and turned the knob.

This gigantic bed was planted right in the middle of the room. Its covers were thrown off, obviously by the naked woman on the bed. She was alone, and obviously having a nightmare. I blushed at her skin—it was as dark as mine, and immensely beautiful. There was a strange movement that she did. Her body had somewhat became rigid, and her head turned around. I didn't dare move. I considered backing out of the room, but I was transfixed by her non-gaze. It was holding me in place. Her face was beautiful, with wonderfully smoothed edges and high cheekbones—she looked so familiar. I then realized that she was naked and I scooped up some of the covers and threw them haphazardly over her body. I had kept my eyes averted, like a gentleman, but my mind was ingrained with her perfect body. I shook the childish awe off and knelt down next to her. On the table next to the bed, there were two pictures in wooden frames. The pictures were uncannily sharp. Who had painted them? The first was of two people, a man and a woman, standing on a beach, holding hands and smiling at each other. They wore very strange clothes, in strange styles. Maybe I was in a different country, in England? Oh, Al Mualim would have my head for that.

The second one was of another girl and the one in the bed. The girl who wasn't present was scowling off to the side. The other was smiling so widely I thought that her mouth would fall off. She was holding an odd club, with something black on the end. The background was yellow, brown, and white, and in shapes of…an Assassin's Bureau? These people in this image were also wearing odd clothes. Where the _hell_ was I?

I turned my attention back to the girl. I put my hand gently on her arm, and was surprised by how soft it was. It felt like silk and the other fine fabrics that the nobles and kings wore. I shook her arm a little bit.

In one fluid motion, one that I couldn't react to, she slapped me hard across the face. My head jerked to the left. Was she awake? I gripped her arm. "Who are you?" I growled. She seemed to have heard me, but she was still asleep. "Wake up."

And she did.

* * *

_EEEWW I know!!_

_Review?_


	6. The Guide to First Impressions

_Yay I'm baaack!!_

**Disclaimer: No matter how many times I keep asking, Ubisoft is not letting me own Altair...-cries in corner- **

* * *

"_Wake up!" they whispered._

* * *

And I did.

But there was someone actually there, wanting me to wake up. He was nearly a foot from my face, and he had a bright red mark across his cheek, and a look that could kill me. I froze in my spot, my eyes wide and horrified. Despite the fact that he was obviously plotting my murder in his eyes, he was quite handsome, in that rugged-I-will-kill-you kind of way.

Okay, it was morning. I screamed, right in his face. This surprised him, and he scrambled back, hitting the wall. "Who the hell are you?!" I screamed, pulling the covers over me. "Pervert!" I opened my mouth to scream again, but I was silenced when he rose up, his humongous stature towering over me. His eyes burned a hole in the sheets. I finally got a good look at who I had rescued.

He was wearing a giant white bathrobe, with a hood over his head that covered his eyes. I was in awe still at how tall he was, and how scary a single person could look. All over his body were straps, and attached to some; there were deadly-looking knives and pouches I didn't want to know what was inside. I was breathing out of my mouth, and I was hyperventilating. This was crazy, this was crazy, this was crazy. He gave off an aura of a powerful and controlling person, and it made me shiver. I realized I was naked just then, with only sheets covering me up. I blushed red, and then returned his glare. He jerked his left arm down some, and a knife shot out in place of where his ring finger should have been.

My self-control left me. I screamed bloody murder and shot off the bed, leaving the covers behind. I ran into the kitchen and seized one of the biggest knives I had, which was no match for his long sword on his hip. Maybe I could throw it…?

He burst into the kitchen. There was nothing between the two of us besides a table. I was vaguely aware of my nakedness, but nothing registered in my mind besides _what the hell is going on_. He stood perfectly still. "Put the knife down." He said sternly. I almost did, before I realized he was speaking in Arabic. My body started to shake, although from what I didn't know.

"No. Who are you?" I shot back. My hands were shaking, and adrenaline was coursing through my fingertips. "Speak, dog!" _Come on, Lacrima. Dog?_

"I will tell you when you put down the knife." He repeated. Something was rising up inside me. But what?

"When you put yours down. You're in my house, my rules." I stated firmly. He made no move to take off the blades and swords. "Then leave, scum!" I pointed with the knife towards the door. He still did not move. I adjusted my feet on the linoleum.

I jumped when he seemed to glide forward and move to take the knife out of my hands. I screamed and threw it in his direction. He shouted out in pain before the knife clattered to the floor. _I hit him! Oh God, I don't have protection anymore._ In the confusion, I ran under his arms and to the doorway of the kitchen. His hand went out to grab me, but all it did was slide down my back as I sprinted into my room. Locking the door behind me, I retreated onto the bed. I was breathing hard.

He banged on the door. "Open this door. You have nowhere else to go."

"No, you ass!" I shouted. I was angry now that I realized he was right, and I got up from the bed and started throwing clothes on. I snatched a blue shirt and a pair of blue jeans from under my bed (my closet's organization baskets had fallen over in the night, poor things) and slid them on.

"Tell me your name, girl." If he thought he was going to address me like that, he was wrooong.

"Go to hell!" I yelled, not cooperating in the least. He kicked the door, but I didn't jump. I doubled over in pain quite suddenly, and my entire body felt like someone had stepped on it. Was this from last night? I remembered falling down the stairs, and then running into the door, and then falling on my face…I touched my nose softly. Pain shot through my spine up to my brain. Ouch. I sat back on my bed, holding my stomach.

* * *

"Go to hell!" she yelled from inside the room. I sighed and kicked the door. Not hard, but loudly enough so that I could hear her retreat on the bed. At least she was afraid of me. That was the point. My shoulder was numbing, but small shards of pain ripped through me consistently.

"Tell me your name, and I'll leave!" the words were out of my mouth before I could even think. I wished I could take them back, but I could nearly hear her contemplating.

"…Lacrima." _Teardrop?_ I thought. I wonder if she spoke any other languages than Arabic.

In Spanish, I spoke. "¿Usted aprende?" she hesitated before answering.

"¿Usted sabe a habla en ingles también?" she asked. I remembered all of my English.

"…Yes." I answered. Where was I?

"Oh thank God." She mumbled on the other side of the door. "Who are you? Why do you have all those knives?" she didn't know about the Assassins? But, the painting of the Bureau—

"What year is it?" I asked cautiously.

"2012. It's September. Don't you know that?" 2012? What happened to 1191? I felt very dizzy. "Hello?" she called when I didn't speak. I staggered back, and hit the wall. This wasn't real._ But the gold…_my thoughts were invading my mind and smashing everything I knew to pieces. "Are you still there?" her voice was scared.

I fell to the ground. My knees went up to my head. I bowed my forehead to my knees. My arm slowly bled onto the floor. I just traveled…821 years into the future, unless…"Are you lying to me?" I asked softly.

"Of course not! Why would I?" she peeked her head out of the door. I was too tired to even move. "Are you alright?"

"No I'm not! I'm not…I'm not _from_ here!" I shouted at her. She shrank back into her room slightly. "Where _is_ here? You speak too many languages and I don't recognize your dialect."

"This is the _Protected_ United States of America. You sound like you're from Saudi Arabia, or…Syria, if I'm not mistaken." I nodded. "I don't mean to anger you, but _who are you_?" she swept her hair back over her shoulder. I could see she was fully clothed, although they were still strange to me. Well, maybe in the future, the styles were different.

"Since I don't know where I am, my name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. I'm an assassin from the year 1191."

We sat in silence for over a half hour, waiting for the other to make a move.

"You're hurt. Oh crap, did I do that?" _Crap?_ It must be some type of swear word, by the way she said it. I nodded and rose onto my feet. "Let me clean that up for you. Come in here."

* * *

I lead him into my kitchen, thinking _how crazy was this guy? He thinks he's an _assassin! I sat him down in a chair and scrambled to get the first aid kit out. Westin's first aid kit. He was a paramedic, and he had given it to me for Christmas last year. Such a good guy, until he tried to get me to sell The Bureau. I smirked at the note he had written on the white plastic: 'Stay safe!'

Sure, letting a madman in during a hurricane was the _epitome_ of that.

I brought the box back into the kitchen, almost grateful that he hadn't moved. "So…" I can't believe I had just forgotten his name.

"Altaïr." He finished for me.

"Altaïr." I smiled slightly at how purely out-of-this-world the name was. Perhaps he was bluffing that he was an assassin. Any second now, he'd jump up and say "Got ya!" and then I'd most likely die. "How did you…get here?"

"I don't know. The last thing I remember was running over a hill in the rain…and then everything was gold, and black, and then I landed here. But…it was wet, and it felt like I was on grass. The air was horribly tainted with poisons, and I couldn't breathe. Do you know where that is?" this was amazing. He could _smell_ the depletion of the ozone? Well, he probably was so used to fresh air that—no, Lacrima. Don't consider this a possibility. He was obviously lying, or mad.

"There's a park right outside. That's where I found you. You were coughing, and unconscious, so I had to carry you back inside before the eye of the hurricane passed."

"Hurricane?" Altaïr seemed confused. He couldn't possibly be bluffing. I mean, after Hurricane Richard in 2011…he's gotta be a poker player or something.

"Y'know, big storm, okay, _huge_ storm…it's crazy." I trailed off after that. He breathed in loudly and I remembered that he was injured. "Oh, um, I need you to, um, remove your, uh…robes?" I tried.

"Very well." He started to take off his belt and when it was off, held it about a foot above the tabletop. "May I?" I nodded and he set the dark brown belt down. It looked as if it was made of leather, and the knives in the little holes looked real. Real deadly, that is.

He next undid the blood-red sash around his middle. "Um, do…all of…your kind…dress this way?" I asked as he started to slip off his outer robes, revealing a thin tunic that covered his torso loosely. I bit my lip to keep from blushing.

"Our Brotherhood has ranks, and in the ranks, the uniforms change minimally, but we all look mostly the same." He said uncomfortably. I noted the fairly deep gash in his clothing, the blood seeping like a red flower through the white. He took off the tunic, and I couldn't keep in my gasp of shock and horror.

All over his chest were scars and burns of different shapes, sizes, and lengths. Most of them were pretty old, but the quantity of them was astonishing. Where has any mental hospital been so cruel to its patients? My hands flew to my mouth and covered my little whimper of fear. The slash on his arm was still freely bleeding, and that's what rooted me in place. "Sit." I said. He sat reluctantly, not used to taking orders, from a woman, no less. I quickly turned around, and retrieved a washcloth from a cabinet. Wetting it from the faucet, I returned to find that his gaze was upon mine. His stare was smothering me, and I almost dropped the cloth. "What?" I asked as I broke eye contact, though I could still feel him staring. I sat on the chair parallel to him.

"Your eyes…they look familiar." I blushed. That's what most people said, except that they weren't particularly "familiar". They were usually "beautiful", "astounding", and "sexy". Men were such pigs sometimes. "Are you sure we're not in 1191, and _you_ transported here?"

"This is my house." I said defensively. "As long as I have my shop, and—"

"You have a _shop_?" he asked incredulously. "But—you're a _woman_." His eyes grew large.

"In this time, women have higher standards than _property._ The quicker you learn that, the better." He was silent. I wiped up his blood with the towel, and put disinfectant on it (he had made a face when I had said that, and I wished I had a camera) before wrapping it up with medical bandages. I stood up and gathered his clothes into a pile. "You can use the shower. You're a mess." He looked at me as if I had spoken a language he wasn't familiar with.

"The _what_?" he asked. Oh, no way. He couldn't be bluffing that he didn't know what a shower was.

"The shower. The thing I left you in?" I sighed when I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Come on." I walked to the bathroom. I didn't realize he was behind me until I turned to make sure he was following me and wasn't in the kitchen. I jumped. "Don't _do_ that."

"What? Walk?" he said with a flash of a grin on his face. My heart stopped beating. His teeth were surprisingly white. One reason he wasn't from the land of non-dental care. Teeth that bright weren't possible, except with airbrushing in magazines. I finally registered his face: high cheekbones, baked brown skin, those perfect honey-brown eyes that held everyone captivated at any time, the angularity of his nose, and those perfect, seductive lips that were curved now into a thin line now that he had realized what I was staring at (him). I was completely taken aback by his appearance, and his slightly longer-than-usual black-as-night hair was cropped up by his forehead. I wondered what it would look like longer…an image popped into my mind but was deflated by Altaïr's basilisk's stare.

"Sorry. I, uh…I mean, you had your hood on, and…never mind." I turned back around and opened the door, shaking with the feeling that this was so very awkward. His left hand (I knew it was his left by the lack of ring finger) curled around my wrist, stopping me.

"You don't have to be afraid of me." He whispered so low I barely thought that he had even spoken. His breath tickled my ear. Just think, an hour ago, I was chasing him around with a knife!

"I'm fine." I mumbled and opened the door. He pushed past me.

"Well, this is called a shower, and you—what the hell are you doing?!" he was bending down to the toilet, and scooping the toilet water (I almost threw up) into his mouth. Obviously his mouth wasn't as clean as I had thought…

"This is a well, is it not?" his look of naïveté was enough to make me laugh, although I felt thoroughly embarrassed at what I was just going to explain. My stomach turned over on itself.

"No! I mean, you shouldn't uh, _do_ that…uh, just…" okay, he saw me naked. He deserves to know that he was drinking out of a toilet. "That's the equivalent of a chamber pot." His face blanched and he stood up, his face stony and hard. He cleared his throat.

"The shower?" he asked, his eye twitching a bit.

I explained to him how to use the shower and I told him where the towels and soap was, all the time keeping my head bowed so I didn't have to look at his face. His embarrassment burnt a hole in my head, but I couldn't help the trembling in my lip when I exited the room. I closed the door behind me and waited for him to turn the shower on. The shower curtain moved back into place, and I went out onto my balcony that leads down to the store.

I couldn't help myself; I laughed until it hurt.

* * *

_I live for moments like that..._

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	7. The Limitations to Teasing

_Yesss!! Another double-post!!_

**Disclamer: Videogames are fun, assassins are hot. It's Christmastime, and Altair is MINE!! -not-**

* * *

I stopped laughing when I went back inside, and pulled back the curtains I had haphazardly covered the window with last night. The shower was running, I know, but all sounds were blocked out and replaced with a mute silence that screamed in my face.

The park, once lively and beautiful, was ripped of its perfection and replaced with horror. All the trees were uprooted and scattered around the streets, like Polyphemus, the Cyclops from the Odyssey, had raged through. The grass was all dead and yellowed with water damage. In the center, a giant hole about fifteen feet deep stared out at me like a corpse's eye. I took a shuddering breath in and tried to remember what it had looked like. But all I could picture were the paths that bled mud and dirt, the trees that wept to me, crying "Lacrima! Save us!"

I closed the curtains, devastated at the sight. The room was colder now, and I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I would've, had it not been for the fact that I had a supposed assassin in my bathroom. Maybe I could leave him here to drink his toilet water, and die…Lacrima! Why are you thinking these things? I cast a look at the door to the bathroom. Steam was seeping out of the crack at the bottom. I had forgotten to open the window. Was that a good thing?

I walked back into the kitchen steadily, and picked up Altaïr's soiled clothes. I would have to wait until I could go down to the Laundromat to get these cleaned. But…they looked odd, and I didn't want to ruin them with chemicals like bleach. I instead set to work in my sink, using the sponge and cold water to wash out the blood and mud. When I had finished with the robe, I heard the shower turn off. Good, he remembered that.

"Err…Lacrima?" his voice called from the other side of the door.

* * *

"Yes? Do you need anything?" her voice was on the other side of the door suddenly. I looked down at the towel around my waist.

"Can I have my robes back?" I heard her walk toward the room where she had given me the bandage and the foul-smelling liquid (disaffect tent?) and walk back.

"Altaïr, they're really, really dirty, uh—oh! Hold on a sec." I was forced to wait patiently on the other side of the door. I gazed over at my breeches on the "sink", as she had called it. My boots were still on the floor, but I suspect that even in this day and age, walking around shirtless was not particularly acceptable. She returned, and knocked on the door. "Altaïr?" I opened the door and peeked my head around the corner, like she had not two hours before. She thrust a pile of fabric into my hands, and they weren't my robes.

"What is this?" I asked. There was a tunic with shorter sleeves, and it was heavier than that of my own. It had a strange picture of an eagle, and the words 'The Eagles' across the top. Huh. You'd think she knew something.

"The one you're holding is a shirt and that goes on like your tunic. These," she held up a pair of red pants, but they had been hacked off so only about a foot was left. At my horrified expression, she continued. "Are called boxers, and they're meant to go on under your pants, as to prevent…irritation." At this, we both blushed and looked away from the other. "These are socks, and these are shoes that my old…beau left behind. Your feet are enormous, so…" she continued to explain how laces worked ("I know how to tie a knot. I'm not _that_ primitive." I had interjected.) "These are jeans," she took the large pile of blue out of my hands. I see what she had meant by "irritation". The fabric was rough, but flexible. I wondered how fast I could run in them…she interrupted me out of my thoughts. "And you put them on like your normal pants, and—oh sure, just put them on now." I had begun to put on the "boxers" under the towel. I kept a face of ignorance, knowing it was making her squirm. I slid the shirt on—it was quite soft, and lightweight. It was a great exchange for all of the heavy swords and knives that I carried around. I felt so…exposed. I lifted the jeans from out of her hands. I put them on, and right then, my moment of jousting ended. There was a dangerous-looking metal contraption too close to where _I didn't want it to be_, and I heard Lacrima laugh triumphantly.

* * *

I laughed loudly. He was staring at the button and zipper like it was going to attack him. Teasingly, I walked slowly toward him. I took the zipper tab in my fingers, and asked him (I was dangerously close to his face by now) "Need help, my little assassin?" I whispered seductively. He visibly flinched and bit his lip so hard it turned purple. I still held his gaze, daring him to break my stare. I was totally just teasing him, but it was sort of hard to keep the hitch out of my voice from how close our bodies were. The heat from the shower was radiating off of him like a Thanksgiving turkey. I continued with my wordplay, egging him on. "I didn't know something so small," I gave a tug on the zipper for emphasis. "Could be such a _big_ problem." He had his eyes closed painfully. It was taking him all he could not to lose his control. He opened his warm brown eyes, and they weren't filled with that murderous stare this time, they were filled with _want_. I smirked into his face, and quickly zipped the zipper up and buttoned the button. I slipped away from him before he could react. "I'll be downstairs…" I teased. "Sucker." I whispered. I walked away, through the kitchen, and down the fire escape, so I could bake my new cake.

* * *

That woman was going to be the death of me, I swear. First, the knife, and then this? I almost stabbed myself with the nearest object so I didn't lose what dignity I had left. I didn't understand this world; didn't she know that? Seduction like this was for married persons, and whores. Lacrima, I could tell, was neither. I used the sink to splash cold water over my face, calming my nerves and sharpening my senses. I used the towel I had unknowingly dropped to the floor to dry off my head. The "shampoo" that Lacrima had let me use made it smell very odd and…flowery. Now I smelled like her. I growled at the thought. I smelled like a _woman_.

I put the "socks" and shoes on, lacing the strings together. They fit alright, but they weren't as gripping against the floor, or as comfortable, as my boots. But the boots were in need of a wash, like everything else of mine. This future was still so modern to me, all shapes and angles, and absolutely everything was clean. I tried walking around the apartment, until I knew all the corners and components. Nothing was jumping out at me. I suddenly panicked. Where was Lacrima? She had said "downstairs" and I had no idea where that was. I checked the doors and walls again, trying to seek out a set of secret stairs I might have missed. I had no idea we were even on a second level! I paced the room with the curtains over the window. This was ridiculous. I wouldn't do this to someone who transported into my world. Well…maybe I would…but that was beside the point! What a cruel, cruel woman.

Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I threw open the curtains. I was shocked at the sight in front of me. Apparently, the weather was just as bad as it was in my time. A single reminder of what I had. Even my clothes had disappeared. I stared at the horrifying sight in front of me. The trees looked like they had been slaughtered. There were these odd, colorful things on the sides of the streets, and they were overturned. They looked like carts with covers on them, but there were no horses in sight. Maybe they had all died in the storm—_hurricane._ I decided not to dwell on it any longer, so I returned to my searching. I dared not go back into the room with the _toilet_, as I might vomit at my actions.

I instead retreated to the remaining room. There was a door that I hadn't opened. I tried the handle, but it took awhile to figure out that it turned the other way. I finally opened the door, letting the dull sunshine stream in.

I finally realized how big the world was. My eyes were so wide it hurt. All around me, buildings were towering over, and I almost thought they would fall on me. They were all a dark gray, and all of their windows (they were floor-to-ceiling) gleamed, so unlike the ones in Jerusalem, or even Masyaf. There were no ledges to grab holds onto, so there was no hope of ever climbing them. I wanted to know how they were built, but I was still looking for Lacrima.

To my right, there was a set of stairs that led down to a lower landing. They were made of metal, and they were very slippery. I managed to get down the first flight without slipping, and down the next one as well, but the accursed shoes on my feet made me slip on the fifth from the ground. _._ All the way down, until my ass hit the cold, wet…ground. It felt like a giant stone, and it was cut in squares all along the alley. I got up and dusted my hands off on the shirt, daring anyone around me (there was no one) to laugh or even acknowledge my presence.

Now I was really lost. I had no idea where Lacrima was, as she was nowhere in sight. I tried the door on the left of me. Where had she gone? The door opened into a white room, and I was momentarily blinded. I shielded my eyes from the gleam of everything.

There were tables with silver tops everywhere, and there were so many things I didn't know what to call. My eyesight finally adjusted and I saw Lacrima about ten feet from where I stood. I focused on my scowl, and stalked over to her. She had her hands wrist-deep in some sort of sand-colored mixture. "Took you long enough." She mumbled. "What happened, Altaïr? Get a little…" Her gaze shifted down my body, quickly turning my ears red. "…preoccupied?"

"No." I stated a little too quickly. "You had left me there alone, with no idea of where you were. So yes, I was preoccupied, but not in the perverse ways you imply." I said smugly. I leaned back on one of the tables slowly, jumping slightly at the cool surface. I rested my palms on the edge uncertainly, figuring out in seconds that the table was covered in steel. "What are you…uh, doing?" I tried. It looked like she was just mixing her hands around in the blue bowl.

"Making a cake. What did you think I was doing, riding a bicycle?" a _what_? She blushed when she saw my dubious face. "Sorry, it's a future thing."

"Why are you making a cake? Surely you're not married?" I bit my lip at this. Why was I all of a sudden asking these questions? Maybe it was my sense of curiosity mixed with my lack of the ability to stay anonymous. It was probably a normal thing to talk about things like marriage and…well, other things.

"Married? Wha—why would you think I was _married_?" she spat the word like a curse.

"I've never seen a woman more vicious than those that are married." I mused.

"Remember what I told you. Women are held at a higher standard. Remember that, boy." I felt something rise up in me. No one but Al Mualim called me _boy_ like that.

"And hopefully their manners match it." I growled. She froze at my voice. I could see her shoulders tense, and her body shook with tremors. Was she that afraid of me?

"Leave." She said in a quiet voice. I made a face at her back and went back out the door I had come in. If I could remember where this place was, maybe, I could explore…

* * *

After the door had swung shut on my left, I finally moved from my spot in the kitchen. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and touched the scar on the inside of my wrist. Scar, not scars. It was long and white, and really, really ugly. It had hurt a lot when it was being stitched up, and remembrance of that day rushed through me, but not before I had pushed them down, like I had done so many times before. I unclenched my jaw. Never again.

I continued making the cake, that feeling of loneliness washing over me yet again. Where had Altaïr gone? Had he gone back upstairs? I couldn't hear any footsteps, but then again, I didn't hear him creep up on me this morning, either.

_Oh, God, help me_. I began to cry into the bowl of cake batter and rum.

* * *

_Poor Altair...he's so manipulative..._

_Review! It's sort of hard to post without reviews..._

_BTW, a great song to listen to while reading this is _Tie Your Mother Down _by Queen_

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	8. Sensitive to Wandering Aimlessly

_Hey y'all!! Double post today!! Also, on a side note, I have incorperated my favorite American TV show into this chapter as well as the next one, and if you guess right, Lacrima will bake you any cake you want!!_

**Disclaimer: I -whispers 'don't'- own Assassin's Creed or a certain FOX Television show...that's on Thursdays at 9...**

* * *

This city was amazing, amidst all the destruction the hurricane had caused. I remembered to retrace my steps often, as to make sure that the set of metal stairs didn't disappear. I was being cautious; I didn't know this city, and I had just angered the one person who knew of my whereabouts and my history. The ground wasn't as soft as the hard-packed dirt of my homeland—if it was still there. I suddenly became panicky—what if I could never return to Masyaf? Was life going on there like I was never an assassin? I still had my reflexes, but with my equipment back in Lacrima's apartment, I had no protection but my hands. _And my feet…_

I realized I had walked too far, and I was utterly lost. The streets were oddly empty, despite it being such a monstrous city. I finally got to see what the colorful horseless carts were. They were made of the same steel that the surface of the tabletops were. They had windows on the sides, and the strangest wheels—a sort of bouncy rubber with strange engravings I couldn't translate. I could point out a couple of common Arabic characters, but nothing made sense. _I should ask Lacrima when I find my way back_.

Lacrima. What had I done to anger her so? She had most likely known that I wasn't meaningfully scaring her, but I must have crossed a line that was meant to be respected. Those eyes…so familiar. I had no idea where I had seen that color blue before. I was so close to decoding them…but my thoughts about Lacrima's eyes slowly drifted towards her face, her shape, her skin…I shook the thought off. One shouldn't become too deep in thought, not anywhere. I focused on finding my way back. I retraced as far as I could remember, which was relatively far, considering my lack of knowledge about the city. I didn't even know the name!

I turned a corner at random, and walked a few hundred yards, before I saw a familiar sight. The large garden that was massacred. With a glimmer of hope, I walked slowly down the side of the street, which was overflowed with water and debris. I bit my lip at the sight and continued until I was in the center of the side of the street. I stared out at all the activity. There were big black machines on wheels surrounding it. Many people in black trousers and coats were conversing with one another, running around to relay other messages. I slowly crept over, not sure of what I was doing.

One person, obviously of lesser rank, by the way he was out of breath from running around so much, met my gaze, and I wished I had my hood over my eyes. He froze in place at my stare and shook himself, running to the nearest superior. I started to walk away. Now was not the time to investigate.

But to no avail. I was called. "Hey! Sir, can I talk to you?" A woman had called. So the main language was English. I took a few more steps, pretending not to hear the person. "Oye! Aqui!" I kept walking. The only way I would turn is if they spoke in Arabic.

Finally, someone did. "Hey! Come over here so we can talk to you!" a man called out to me. I put on my stony face of non-emotion before I turned and stalked to the man.

He was older than me (sort of ironic when you think about it), but still had the look of a young boy. His dark brown eyes seemed to accuse everything they stared at, and they matched my own stare. He had a bit of stubble around his jaw, colored dark brown, like his hair. I looked at him as if he were below me. Well, I _was_ eight hundred years older than him.

There was a woman at his side, dressed in the same attire as the men. _How odd_, I thought. _She dresses like the way Lacrima implies women do. _She had long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Her lips were parted slightly, and her top row of teeth were white.

"Yes?" I replied in Arabic. The woman told the man on her left to translate a sentence I couldn't register fast enough.

"Do you know what happened here last night?" the man asked me. We glared at each other for a split second, pure male instinct.

"There was a storm, and it rained a lot. I don't know the specifics, but it was strange." I had a feeling I had to lie to these people. Telling them I was from the twelfth century would give them the wrong idea. The man relayed what I had said, interrupting my sentence about halfway through, to the woman. She asked, "Strange how?" and I waited for the man to ask in my language.

"The lightning…it was everywhere. And—" I was cut off.

"Altaïr!" I nearly jumped out of my skin when Lacrima bounded out of one of the doors on the side of the street.

* * *

I continued my cake, and left it in the oven for a while, setting the timer to count up the minutes. I had written down the instructions in a purple notebook, the one I use for making up cakes with. In the spare time, I had doodled the shop insignia, a teardrop with the bottom open, in the right-hand corner.

I felt really bad about making Altaïr leave like that. I made sure the cake wouldn't burn, and I went up to my apartment. I slowly opened the door that lead into the kitchen. "Altaïr?" I called out. There was no one in the kitchen but me. I closed the door behind me. "Are you here?" I kept walking. "I'm sorry for blowing up at you like that, before. I was just…Altaïr, please come out." I searched every corner: the living room, bathroom, and bedroom were all clear. No one was here. "Altaïr?" I said, a little louder this time. No answer. If he was going to scare me, he'd better do it now. I stood as silently as possible, just _daring_ him to jump out and make me piss my pants.

But no one came. Five minutes came and went, and all was silent. I took a deep breath in, and went over to the window. Maybe he was in the park…

And he _was_ there, talking with some government _agents_ like nothing was wrong! I threw the curtains over the window, and dashed back through the apartment. I ran into the door, and swung it wide open. I nearly _slid_ down the stairs again, but my balance was still intact, so I remained upright. I threw open the door to the kitchen, and darted through it, and the shop area. I yanked open the door and yelled his name. "Altaïr!"

The three of them looked at me like I was some sort of ghost. At least, Altaïr did. I quickly made up a story of why he was here. "Oh, thank you so much for finding him. He's staying with me while he's uh, not in…Syria." I finished quickly. Altaïr looked like I had just saved his life.

"Can I bother to ask you some questions about the storm last night?" the blonde woman asked me. I shook my head and came up with an 'I'm busy' and dragged Altaïr back to the shop. He was looking up at the sign in awe, and when I finally got him through the door, he was frozen in place, looking everywhere at once.

"Where am I?" he asked. I looked out of the small peephole on the door. The man and woman were walking toward The Bureau!

"What did you tell them!" I groaned.

"I told them that the storm was odd. That's it. Then you come in, and make it seem like we're two criminals!" he pointed a finger at me.

"But we're _not_ criminals. We're…roommates! Wait, you know what a roommate is, right?" he nodded like I was stupid.

"Of course I do, who do you think I am?" his ranting was cut short by the inevitable knock at the door. I grimaced and shooed Altaïr into the kitchen ("Don't touch _anything_.").

I brushed back my hair, and opened the door. They were standing there, with these faces of seniority. They were probably both mid-thirties, and they looked like they were friends. "Hi." I squeaked under their stares.

"Hello…I'm Olivia Dunham, FBI. This is Peter Bishop. Can we ask you a couple of questions?"

I nodded and let them in. I told them to make themselves at home, although that was the exact opposite of what I wanted them to do—leave.

"Lacrima!" Altaïr shouted from the other room. He sounded a little scared. I immediately smelled the scent of smoke. Oh, no.

"Oh, crap. Please, just hold on a second. I have a cake in the oven." I disappeared through the kitchen door, and immediately saw the smoke seeping through the cracks in the oven. Oh my God. Altaïr was attempting to beat it away, but just looked silly. I took down the fire extinguisher down from the wall and opened the oven. Pulling the ring, and holding down the handle, I sprayed the contents of the can all over the oven. I had had a lot of practice in these sort of things, over the years. Oh, God. Now I have to buy a new fire extinguisher. I handed the empty red can to Altaïr, who held it like it was a screaming baby. His eyes went wide, and I told him to stay. I returned back into the store.

"Is everything all right, Miss…?"

"Bureau. Lacrima Bureau." I shook the hands of them both. "Yeah, I was just teaching Altaïr how to make a cake, and we got in a fight, and he left, so I had freaked out, and…wow it's been an odd morning." I sighed, wiping the residue of the liquid carbon dioxide on my jeans.

"Alright. So…were you here, in your shop, when the storm blew in?" I nodded.

"I was asleep, and Altaïr was cleaning up down here. He came and woke me up when it started to get a little dangerous." I raised my eyebrows, hoping to be convincing.

"And…did _Altaïr_ seem to be doing anything…strange?" The federal agent asked, looking over my shoulder at the door that leads to the kitchen.

"No, he's always quiet, and only speaks a little, even to me. I mean, I've kn-known him for years, and we're always…I dunno, _distant_?"

"And…this fight, what was it about?" I bit my tongue. I knew this was going to come up.

"Just a little thing. About the cake." I added with a shrug of the shoulder. "Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you. Just…keep an eye out for anything strange around here, okay?" the man asked me. I nodded. He was sort of handsome, but not as much as Altaïr. Maybe they were related…? Maybe I shouldn't bring that up…

They left finally, and I sighed and went back into the kitchen. Altaïr was still frozen in place. "Did you hear all that?" he nodded slowly. "Here; I'll take that from you." I pried the fire extinguisher out of his hands.

"What…was that?" he asked slowly.

"Hm?" I said, throwing the thing into the waist-high trash can. "Oh, that's a fire extinguisher. It…it puts out fires by using this liquid carbon dioxide—it's not really air, and you can't breathe it. If you do…well, you die." I looked over at the oven, now looking like one of Karina's wedding cakes I had sabotaged after one of our fights. I smiled at the memory.

"It's quicker than buckets and water." He replied.

"Yeah, but it's messier." I took a towel down from a cabinet. Throwing it to Altaïr, he caught it with insane reflexes. "Nice catch." I commented. He was silent.

We wiped up the white mess in silence, until he asked "Where am I?"

* * *

_How was it? Review please?_

_Love,_

_Bailey_

_PS--Gavin, if you're reading this, you need to change your voicemail._


	9. The Fringe to the Edge

_Hello and welcome back to Whose Line is it Anyway, the show where points don't matter--wait wrong fanfiction._

_Even bigger clues in this one, and a really cute scene of Altair!!_

**Disclaimer:**

**ME: But MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!**

**MOM: LOLCATS-R-HOT, GO TO YOUR ROOM AND WRITE MORE FANFICTION!!**

**ME: Fiiine. _Then_ will you give me Altair?**

**MOM: ...**

**ME: Thought so.**

* * *

She took a deep breath. "What specifically do you want to know?" she then asked, when I had set down the towel and looked up at her. "I'm sorry I'm not some detailed historian."

"It matters not. Tell me the city name, and what the hell I just went through." She paused before answering.

"This is Boston, the capitol of the state of Massachusetts. This city is really old, so I don't know everything about it."

"Probably not as old as me." I commented. She had put the towel down by now. I locked her gaze.

"No. Probably not." She said quietly.

"So…where am I now?"

"Like, here, here?" she waved her arms around, gesturing to the room around us. I nodded once. "This is my shop. I run a bakery. Well…a cake shop, to be exact." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her left ear, repeating the action with the other side.

"Who designed the front part?" I demanded. It was identical to an Assassin's Bureau. This was impossible. I had nearly collapsed in awe when I had seen how similar the room had been to my memory. Even the ceiling had vines snaking through a cross-hatch fence.

"Well, my friend Romeo made it happen. He told me about these abandoned buildings, all over the Middle Eastern countries, and they were all the same—and they had this symbol on their roofs." She pulled down a sort of flexible board with a piece of paper on it. I immediately saw what she was indicating. I seized the object from her.

"This is the symbol of our Brotherhood. Did you say…they were abandoned?" my heart began to sink. There was no more Brotherhood? Had the Templars won? Lacrima nodded slowly. "Tell me…did the Third Crusade…who won?" Lacrima looked down. "I understand." My heart was falling, deeper and deeper into my stomach, until I couldn't feel it anymore. I felt sick. Was I the last one of my kind left?

"Altaïr, I—" I cut her off by raising my hand for silence.

"This is not your fault. It is not even mine." Or at least I thought so…

"Okay. Um, let's set some ground rules, alright?"

* * *

"One, tell me where you're going before you just storm out and stuff like that, okay?" he nodded reluctantly. "Two, respect the lines that are drawn for a _reason_. I don't want to have to slice your arm open again." I paused, thinking about some sort of finality that could crescendo this little rant I was having. "And three, don't let anything…uh, y'know, hurt you. This world is more dangerous than yours. We have…je ne sais quoi…_modernized_ weapons."

"Like what?" he seemed interested, but only vaguely. I had just told him that his side had probably been totally wiped out by Templars.

"I don't know where to start." I got up and went over to the radio on the counter. Altaïr watched me with interest. "There's these things called guns, and they—they're…ugh. I don't even know how to explain it. I grew up in a time of war, and I'm still living through it. All of the terror and killing…it's ridiculous. They _say_ they're fighting—slaughtering, really—for _peace_, and all I see are the deaths of innocents. Little boys and girls…their lives ended, their parents' lives ended…do you know what I'm talking about?" I turned back to him. He had silently stood up, and was leaning against the counter, like he had been doing before.

"I think I know what you're saying. Your world is still like ours. I was born into the time between the Second and Third Crusades. I was born into death. My father—" he broke off. I had a feeling that this was his boundary line.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." I said to him softly. I wanted to move closer, but after the events of this morning, I had no intention of repeating that. I stayed put.

"My point is…" he moved about three feet in my direction. I straightened my posture, immediately becoming on-edge. "This is the war we all live in. And that's what we do. We live." We were silent, although I had smiled at his philosophy.

Before I could say any more, my stomach interjected. I reddened and said we should eat. Altaïr's eyes lit up, and my mood lifted. It was as if he was a heater, (or maybe a virus) and if he was in the room, he could be cold, or warm, and that affected everyone in it. Or was it just me? I climbed back up the stairs to the apartment, ordering Altaïr to stay in the kitchen. I brought down some rice I had made two nights ago and a half-loaf of bread. Hopefully Altaïr wouldn't tell the difference. I took a spoon (they were the only things that were clean) out of the sink, drying it off with my t-shirt.

As I had expected, he wasn't in the kitchen when I got back. I sighed and walked into The Bureau. He was laying back on the cushions. "Comfortable?" I asked lightly.

"Immensely. So much better than the shower." I laughed at his observance, and he sat up. "Bread and rice? I see the menus haven't changed." He said skeptically.

"If I were to cook you a normal meal, you'd be starved. Eat." I ripped half the bread loaf off for me, and chucked the other half at his head. He caught it fluidly, like I had told him to catch it_. Hmph. Stupid man. _I had thought when he smiled smugly at my face of surprise. I nibbled on my bread.

"For a baker, you look really underweight. Why don't you eat?" I knew the question would've come up sooner or later. I put my bread down.

"I have a condition with my body, and I can't eat as much as normal people. It's called shrink stomach. I get fuller faster than other people. Like, for me, this little piece of bread is like eating what your equivalent is to that. I like to _make_ food, but not particularly _eat_ it, so answer your question." I took off a small piece of bread.

The clouds parted and the sunlight drenched the room in warmth. I laid back on the carpet, basking in the light. The heat was like a blanket on a cold night; a relief after all that rain and darkness. "Altaïr?" I asked slowly.

"Yes." He replied, his mouth half-full with food.

"Why do you have so many scars on your body?" he was silent, thinking about his answer. Not that I had expected one.

"Because scars make us remember our mistakes." I gazed at the thick white line on my arm, hidden from Altaïr's line of sight. He was right in more ways than he would ever know.

* * *

I looked over her body while shoveling rice into my mouth. It was cold, and a little stickier than I was used to, but it still worked. The bread didn't taste as authentic, but in a world where everything is lines and angles, authenticity didn't matter.

Her body was completely relaxed, like a cat's would be in this position—stretched out under the sun. _This would be the perfect kill,_ I thought, before I scolded myself at thinking that for Lacrima. I mean, look at all she's done for me! She saved my life, she tended to my wounds (her fault, but don't think about that), she gave me food! Why would I want to kill her?

_Because no one's watching…_

I didn't have my weapons. How could I kill her? No, no, no. _Why_ would I kill her?

_She embarrassed you. Women aren't allowed to do that to a man…_

She was entitled to it. I was acting foolish. And besides, no one knows about that besides her and myself!

_No one's looking, do it…_

No.

_You know how to…_

I tried to push the voice out of my head by eating more food. But my appetite had suddenly disappeared. It didn't work. I tried to ignore it.

_Altaïr, do it._

I said no.

_Do it._

No.

_Altaïr…_

NO.

_Altaïr…_

NO!

"Altaïr?" Lacrima was sitting up now, staring at me like I was a hurt animal. "Are you alright? You keep saying 'no' over and over again…" she looked worried, like I might disappear. The words were gone, but they still echoed in my head, a lasting proposal…

I shook my head. "I'm fine." I scooted back a few feet and wrapped my elbows around my knees. What _was_ that thing? It had my voice, but it was not me. It wasn't…it couldn't…

"Okay, but if you want to talk, let me know. It's not good for a person to keep all their feelings locked up inside…I should know." She added quietly. My old curiosity was stoked yet again.

For good measure, I said "Oh?" like I was vaguely interested in her life. Which I was, but more than vaguely.

"You don't want to know…" her tone had darkened. I remembered what she had said in the white room. _Respect the lines that are drawn…_she hadn't pressured me when I had said something about my father. I shut up. This wasn't something to dip into.

"Er…thank you for…the food." I said, unsure of what to call it.

"It's called lunch, if you're curious. You look like you need to sleep." I nodded, and stifled a yawn. Fatigue suddenly rushed over me, and I hadn't even done anything all day except walk around and get slashed by a knife. "Come on." She said, leading me back through the kitchen and up the stairs almost unconsciously.

The sight of the bed was heavenly. I barely registered her words as I stared at it longingly. "Now, you can sleep here for now, until I get something situated for you. I might just sleep on the couch tonight, unless there's room, y'know…?" I had collapsed on the bed, completely exhausted. I heard her sigh and close the door as my mind drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was about seven at night, and there was nothing left to do, so I cleaned out the oven with disinfectant twice, and called Jasika again.

It rang twice before she picked up. "Hello?" she said in her psychologist voice—enthusiastic, and slightly higher-pitched.

"Jasika? It's me." Her regular tone switched back on.

"Oh. Well, what, did you take my advice and find a man already?" I bit my lip. Should I tell her?

"Jasika, you need to come down here, like, _now_." For emphasis, I whispered, "Please."

"I'll be ten minutes."

It was five when she got here. In a loud voice, she asked "Well, where is he?" I shushed her and told him he was sleeping. I led her to my room and showed Altaïr to her. "Ooh, he looks _exhausted_. Lacrima, I didn't know you had a sex life!" she hugged me and jumped up and down.

"Stop jumping! He's…really sensitive to noise." I whispered. I looked over to see if Altaïr was awake, but he looked asleep still, save for the small smile on his lips.

"What's his name??" Jasika asked boldly.

"Uh, I—"

I was cut off by an "Oh, it doesn't matter. He's a _hunk_, L! Where'd you snag him? The gym? The park?" I looked down in embarrassment. She would never know…

"That's…none of your business." I stuck my nose up in the air, but I was still so short, being only five foot three.

"Ahh…I see. Little Lacrima is keeping secrets from us, now?" she waggled her eyebrows at me, and I heard Altaïr cough in the bedroom. I cast a scowl in his direction. _Damn you…_

"Y-yes, I am." I tried to hide my stutter, but I couldn't. Wait. I did a double-take at Altaïr's figure on the bed. Where had his shirt gone? Well, technically, it was Michael's, but…

"Wow…Lacrima, I have one word of advice. Marry him." I rolled my eyes and coughed, thoroughly mortified. _That's two words,_ my smart-ass self would have said.

"Jasika! We just met!" I protested.

"And he's in your bed." She pointed out smugly.

"I—but he's—ugh!" I sputtered. "Leave. You've not helped me at all." I pointed to the door. It was now eight thirty.

"I need to get back anyway. Things to do, men to charm…" she teased me. I let out a small shriek of rage and pushed her out the door. When I heard her retreat back down the stairs, I sunk down the door and sighed. Why me?

I eventually decided that I was opening The Bureau tomorrow, and I left messages on Johnny, Karina, and Mary's cell phones. Hopefully one of them would show. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and attempted not to think of the wonderfully warm (already inhabited) bed not ten feet from my position. "I like her. Is she your sister?" I jumped at Altaïr's voice. I hadn't seen him come in.

"Y-yeah. Go back to sleep. I'm just gonna go sleep on the couch…" my eyelids drooped at the mention of sleeping. I yawned loudly and started to stagger towards the living room. I lost my balance when I passed Altaïr, and I let him direct me to the bed. I felt the bed under my body, and then I felt Altaïr next to me, his body radiating heat like the sun. "Don't get any ideas…" I warned. "Or I can throw another kitchen knife at you…"

He laughed softly in my ear. He sure sounded tired, though he wasn't showing it. His arm was around my shoulders, and it was so comfortable…I fell asleep.

* * *

She fell limp against my body, her slow, steady breathing sending me into a trance. I was close to passing out, but I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to make sure I didn't kill her in my own slumber. Maybe I could sleep on the white _thing_ in the other room…

I played with her hair for awhile, enjoying the constant smell of flowers (or was that me?). It was intoxicating, like a drug. I inhaled deeply, getting stimulated off of her scent. I smiled as she turned toward me. The light from the front room shone through the hall and the door, and onto her face, casting one half of her face in shadow.

She looked so peaceful, so beautiful…I couldn't help myself. I kissed her. It was warm, and soft, with my rough lips against her smooth ones, and I felt so utterly, childishly happy that I had forgotten how to breathe. With long reluctance, I pulled away. She nudged her head up to my chest, her arm draped across my middle. At first, I was startled, but I knew better than to wake her.

I could feel sleep overcoming me, and I welcomed it. I couldn't kill her…not when I'm dreaming of her…

* * *

_-squee!!-_

_Okay, an explanation of that chapter:_

_Altair is about twenty-five in this. Yeah, Wikipedia it. So. Basically saying: the man's got NEEDS._

_But he doesn't really express this until later..._

_Lol XD_

_So, there was supposed to be this really funny line that I'd been thinking of since the beginning of writing this. It was supposed to be Jasika talking, and before this, Altair had run into a door/been punched in the face by Lacrima. He was supposed to be passed out on the couch, and Jasika would say to her sister _**"Lacrima, when I said go _get _a guy, I didn't mean _mug_ one!"**

_This scene didn't work out because I tried to get an image of when Altair would look like if he was punched in the face, and that only looked like it would again head down the path of 'let's kill Lacrima'. So no._

_Questions? Comments? There's a really cute green button under me, waiting to be clicked!!_


	10. Fade to Black

_Yay!! Triple-post!! I'm totally raving about all the reviews that had come in within, like an hour of posting!! Also, if you hadn't noticed, I'm literally posting every six hours. Well, I'm probably only going to post one chapter tomorrow (everybody say awwwwww) as it's Christmas Eve, and I MOST LIKELY won't even be on the Internet (yes, I capitalize it) on Christmas Day, and this is good for you people without lives to go and spend time with your families and enjoy the spirit of Christmas. It'll be good for both of you. For you, you can breathe fresh air and see real sunshine (results may vary by location). For them, they don't have to face near-death experiences from coming into your room when you're reading 'a really important IM', or they could possibly just assure themselves that you're alive. Well, happy Christmas Eve Eve, everybody!!_

**Disclaimer: Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is a live-size, living, breathing Altair doll that can move and talk. Love, Bailey. -RETURN TO SENDER-**

* * *

…_I was in The Bureau. Or was I? The skylight had been taken out, and there was no counter. It looked…authentic. There was no door. How did I get in here? Maybe in through the top. The air smelled and tasted fresher here. The sun was everywhere. I knew I wasn't in the city. There was a fountain in place of the door, and strangely, there was the logo for The Bureau! But…it wasn't mine. I tried to remember where else I had seen it. I got frustrated and started to explore. There was quiet, peaceful chatter outside. I kept hearing birds of prey swoop down and land on the rim around the top. It wasn't so much a ceiling as it was a horizontal fence._

_About two yards from me, there was an archway that led into a conjoining room. I bit my lip. Should I go through? I decided to look in the barred window to the left of it. It was a fairly spacious room, though dusty and well lived-in. I smiled at how homely it looked. I decided to walk in._

_Standing under the archway, I was hesitant to go in. no one was in sight. There was a counter on my direct right, with a full-length bookshelf behind it, stuffed to the brim with scrolls, journals, and textbooks. The entire other side was a blank area. I paced the black enclosure three times before I noticed the door. This was the only thing in the area that looked unused. There was scaffolding around the edges—easy enough to climb on to._

_I sighed. I felt utterly at home…_

* * *

…_This was crazy. Where was I? It seemed that I've been asking that question too many times recently. The world was entirely gray. Then there was Lacrima. She was running through the mist towards me. "Altaïr!" she yelled, frightened. "They're after me! You have to help me!" she took hold of my arm and pointed into the mist. Nothing seemed to be there, but she seemed frightened._

"_Who is chasing you?" I asked in a monotone. I strained my ears to hear further, but all I could hear was Lacrima's heavy breathing._

"_All of them. The—" she was cut off by an arrow sticking out of her throat. I cried out in shock and lowered her to the ground. I scanned the area. I couldn't tell where the arrow had come from._

"_Lacrima. Breathe. Don't die. Please, don't die." I shook her body, but the color in her beautiful blue eyes was fading by the second. "No. No, this isn't happening."_

"_R…" she gurgled. I lowered my ear to her mouth. "Run." She whispered before letting out her last breath. I felt a presence with us. I ran in a direction I hoped would shake them off, but I didn't dare try to look back. Something wet splashed onto my face. What?_

_I wiped the tears out of my eyes. Tears?_

_Finally, I tripped and fell against the odd plain. The mist immediately covered up my body, and I was suffocating…suffocating…_

_Something big and black hovered over me and said something garbled before everything flashed white._

* * *

I sat up, gasping. Lacrima was asleep. I shifted her face from side to side. No arrow. No blood. I let out a large sigh. She was still breathing. She was still peaceful. I removed myself from her grip and attempted to slip away.

Attempted.

My hand was grasped. I froze. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You were yelling in your sleep."

"I'm fine." I stated. "Just a nightmare. It's nothing." I still couldn't get the image of her dull, glazed eyes out of my line of vision.

"What time is it?" she grumbled.

"How should I know?" I shot back.

"Shut up. It's seven AM." She set a black box down on the table beside her. When I inquired about it, she said "It's too early to try and explain this one to you." She sighed and got up. "I'm gonna take a shower, and…think about some things. Don't…go anywhere." She pointed at me, but her sleepy state was so adorable, I couldn't help myself. I laughed. "What?"

"You look ridiculous." She reddened. Obviously not the right thing to say.

"Put your shirt back on." She mumbled. "_You_ look ridiculous." I suddenly became self-conscious and looked around for the shirt. She had left to go to the tile room.

"Why, God? Is this my punishment? Making a woman boss me around?" and yet again, God did not answer.

* * *

The warm water beating down on my skin helped clear my mind, with the help of the aromatherapy candles Jasika had given me a while ago. The only useful thing she's done, in my opinion.

Where had Altaïr come from? I still didn't believe he was an assassin, from the past, let alone the present. I still had to mend his clothes before he left. Wait, why would he leave? Where would he go? Where _could_ he go? I scrubbed my hair with the flowery shampoo. Altaïr seemed to like it, but for now, I should go out and buy some travel supplies at the drugstore on Harrison Street. For Altaïr. I mean, he can't go around smelling like a piece of fruit for the time that he's here, right?

I turned on the radio next to the shower, just so I could get my mind off of Altaïr for a moment.

"_This hour of music is brought to you by Abstergo Pharmaceuticals. What can we do? What _can't_ we do?_" I suffered through the commercial. Over the years, Abstergo had been expanding faster than the world could keep up with. The company manufactured everything from aspirin to zebra clones. Finally the music came on.

"Hey, this is DJ X, bringing you a full commercial-free hour music. Here's an oldie, but I think you'll like it, in light of recent events…"

A strange song came on, one I knew was familiar, but I couldn't remember the name…

_Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere…_

I was sure I knew the lyrics. I turned it up, hoping my wet hand wouldn't mess up the signal.

_Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere…_

I remember this was playing at my high school prom three years ago. Already I started to remember Max Tristan grinding against my—

_A singer in a smoky room…smell of wine and cheap perfume…_

I thought of that club I snuck into in the eighth grade. Despite the warm water on my head, I shivered.

_For a smile, they can share the night. It goes on and on and on and on…_

I used my fingers to brush out my long hair. I had been meaning to get it cut sooner or later…

_Strangers, waiting up and down the boulevard. Their shadows—searching in the night…_

* * *

There was some sort of music coming out of the tiled room, but I couldn't make out most of the words.

_Hiding, somewhere in the night…_

The man singing it had almost the same dialect as Lacrima, and it was odd to hear a man sing. Who was in there with her? I knocked on the door. "Lacrima?"

"Yeah?" she replied. The man had stopped singing momentarily, but the music went on.

"Who's in there with you?" I demanded. The man started to sing again.

_Some will win, some will lose…_

She started to laugh, and I got the feeling that she was alone. "It's my, uh, music box. No one else is in here but me."

_Some were born to sing the blues…_

"Oh. Well, sorry." I sat back on her bed, embarrassed. I'm sure she would be the same if she was in _my_ world. But her knowledge and skills would've gotten her farther than me. I sat in silence, trying to decode the song.

_Streetlights, people…living just to find emotion. Hiding somewhere in the night…_

I was shocked at how long the man could hold a note. But 'living to find emotion'? what did that mean? The second part made minimal sense, if any. Anyone could hide in the night. _Especially assassins_…I thought with a smirk.

Some strange music spilled out through the crack in the door. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before…it was…very, very odd. I couldn't place it. I heard people moving downstairs. I knocked softly on the door. "Lacrima. There's people downstairs." I said.

"Oh, they're here already?" she asked, surprised.

_Don't stop believing…hold on to that feeling…streetlights, people…_

Again, the insanely long note. "Who are you talking about?" I asked urgently. She turned the shower off and I heard metal scrape gently against metal.

"My employees. I forgot I was opening today!" the door suddenly opened and Lacrima burst out, clad in only a small white towel. I immediately turned away and clamped my eyes shut. I jumped when my brain was invaded with the image of her with an arrow sticking out of her neck. Where were my weapons? I looked around frantically for them. They weren't on the table, and they weren't in the room with the "couch".

"Where are my knives?" I asked aloud.

"I put them in some cabinet." She said, pulling a shirt on over her body. I tried to look without wincing at the angry scar that marred her left forearm. My mind immediately reeled with possibilities, wondering how it had happened. I knew every story of every scar on my body, even the minor ones. Because they're there, they deserve to have a story. I thought about the bandage on my shoulder.

"Which cabinet? I asked, entering the kitchen. She was pulling on some black shoes that only came up to her ankles. I looked at my own bare feet. This was odd. We had the same shoes.

"I don't know, look around. Be a detective for once." She tied her hair back, shaking loose strands out of her eyes.

"I could always…_interrogate_." I teased, edging forward. She froze. I was suddenly right in front of her, staring down at her face, a small smile playing on my lips. I cocked an eyebrow at her bewildered stare. Her cheeks flushed. "Is there a problem, Lacrima?" I almost whispered. All was quiet, even the noises downstairs seemed to have ceased.

"None at all." I watched her lips move, the lips that I had kissed last night. The lips that were so soft under my own…

* * *

I held my breath. He was so frickin' close to me, his lips only a hair away. What was he _doing?_ At least I didn't have a hand on his zipper now…This intensity was about to lapse into furious make-out, so I broke his seductive stare and left out through the door. I took three deep breaths, and then a hopeless smile played over my face, quickly replaced by a scowl of confusion. This guy was hot and cold at the same time. I hope he didn't cop a feel last night…

I opened the door, and Karina dropped what she was doing and ran up to me. "I'm so sorry!" she said in my hair.

"Uh, what?" I asked, after she had let go of me. Her hug was nothing compared to Altaïr's non-embrace.

"You started crying yesterday, and I thought it was my fault." She wiped her eyes, where her mascara had started to run.

"Why would it be your fault, Karina?" I felt slightly cold. I was only wearing my 'Feed the French' shirt and some sweatpants of Ricky's (or was it Graham?) I had found that didn't smell. I took my time to thank Johnny and Mary for coming.

"Well, get back to work."

"Call came in for you today, about ten minutes ago. It was some Special Agent Dunham or something." My eyes widened. "Since when did you get involved in the government, L?" Johnny asked playfully.

"Uh, yesterday. They had come in and asked me a few questions about the storm. By the way, how did you guys fare that?" I asked lightly, but firmly changing the subject.

"It was scary, but not that bad." Mary chimed in.

"Yeah, I mean, it looks like this place is what had gotten it the worst. Karina, did you see that giant hole where the lightning struck?" Johnny commented. I remembered Altaïr was still upstairs, with nothing to do.

"Crap. I'll be right back. Did uh, Special Agent Dunham leave a number?" Johnny nodded. "Dial it, and I'll be right back." I left my station (I still hadn't gotten anything out) and dashed back up the stairs. I was out of breath by the time I got to the upper landing. "Altaïr?" I called into the kitchen. No response. "Shit, not again." I cursed.

"Forget something?" he called from the living room. I jumped out of my skin.

"Keep yourself occupied up here, okay? I work until five tonight. If you're hungry, there's food in the upper cabinets, and nothing's poisonous, I swear!" I yelled as I went back downstairs. He was still in the living room as I had closed the door. At the mention of food, my stomach had punched itself. All I had eaten in the last two days was bread and a drink of alcohol. Maybe my invention cake could be called the 'Missing Slice'…

"…Yeah, she's right here." Johnny handed me the phone, but covered up the mouthpiece. "Does she always sound pissed off?"

"She sounded stoned the last time we talked." He smirked and handed me the phone. "Hello?" I answered.

"Miss Bureau?" she asked. I cringed at her voice. I went outside.

"That's me." I said, leaning on the rusted pole, picking off pieces of paint with my nails.

"I was wondering if we could meet today, so I could ask you some questions." I heard shuffling papers in the background, followed by a "No, Walter."

"I'm actually working right now. If you could stop by here about…six? That'd be fine." I tried reasoning with her.

"…Sure." Her hesitation set my teeth on edge, like I was being sized up.

"Is that all, Agent Dunham?" I bit my lip. _Say yes, say yes, say yes…_

"Yes. So, what's the address of your…work?" I gave it to her grudgingly and she hung up.

"Bitch." I scowled at the phone.

"You don't seem too happy about that woman." A voice above me observed. I jumped. Altaïr was on the second level, overlooking me for God-knows-how-long.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" I said, changing the subject.

"The entire time." He pulled himself over the edge of the rail. My eyes widened as he descended to my level with perfect ease. How could he do that in _jeans_? He had a smirk on his face.

"Is my lack of observation amusing to you?" he was only a foot in front of me, and my back was pressed against the side rail. My heart leapt in my chest.

"Very." He smirked. His lips…they were so close…my mind was racing and blank all at once.

"And how amusing am I?" I asked, my eyes fluttering closed.

"Let me show you."

All of a sudden, his hands were on the sides of my face, and his lips were ohsoveryclose to mine. I couldn't move, and I felt something from my core rise up and explode in me. Every single cell in my body was on fire. My arms snaked their way up to his neck, and tried to pulled him closer to me. Wow, my shampoo smells good on him.

I can't describe it, but the insane color of red on my face when Johnny walked out, saw us, and walked back inside, was so red, I felt like I was actually turning into a tomato. I didn't know it was possible, but I seemed to be able to shrink back from Altaïr. His hands dropped, and I didn't dare look into his eyes. I didn't look at him at all.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear it.

**END OF PART 1**

* * *

_Sorry for the somewhat-cliffhanger. I had gotten a review that asked for "more teasing", and I happily obliged. And yes, I totally intended for Johnny to walk out._

_If you ask nicely, and review, I'll finish the scene!!_

_Love,_

_Bailey_

_PS: Vlad, you're awesome!!_


	11. Interlude of Broken Bonds

_Hey!! Happy Christmas Eve! I decided to put a tiny one-shot that sparked my ideas. I'll try to explain it at the end, but if you haven't seen Fringe (my favorite TV show EVER) it should be googled, watched, and enjoyed. Well, read on!_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or the Fox TV show Fringe. Even though Peter Bishop is a sexy beast...**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS [HORRIBLY WRITTEN] SUGGESTIVE THEMES.**

* * *

I stared at the phone for awhile. That Bureau woman kept avoiding my questions, and she seemed very…flighty. I had talked with her coworker Peter about her, and he had said the same thing. I replayed the scene in her mind. She sort of burst out of one of the shops on the street adjacent to the park, which was obviously a sign of other universes connecting with our own. The woman had pulled the man into her shop, and after the door was closed, I had asked Peter if that had just happened.

"I'm pretty sure that it did. Let's go check."

Then, when we were inside, the woman looked like she had just put out a fire. Did I have any other evidence but suspicion? No, I didn't, but suspicion and being at the scene of the crime was enough to justify things.

And then that interview in her shop/house. She had looked worn out, and very agitated. Whenever a question about "Altaïr" would come up, she would ring her hands like she was going to be executed. I wanted to ask some more questions about him, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to do it. I felt like…I was being watched. I had looked around from time to time, but I couldn't seem to see anything. I called Peter into the room and told him to try and communicate on her level. Apparently, she spoke more comfortably in French, and the quick jabber was too rapid for me to keep up with, but Peter, my choice linguist, kept nodding like he understood. She obviously felt more comfortable around him than me. It was always that way, in every moment of my life. It was always Rachel, my sister, who had gotten all of the guys. I was lucky to have John for the time I had him, before he died. And came back. And died again.

I sighed. It was so late, and I needed to solve this problem. If Massive Dynamic, the mega-manufacturer, and Abstergo, the leading pharmaceutical company, became one, then the entire world was doomed. Total power corrupts totally, so let's just hope it never comes to that, and that Nina Sharp was even smarter than she already looks. And with William Bell off the charts for now, there was no way of ensuring the world's safety.

My thoughts kept drifting back to that Altaïr guy. His eyes were so cold, like he's seen death way too many times to count. And the fact that he spoke only Arabic. Could he be a terrorist? Could he be one of the Others? The way that woman protected him, it was scary. Was she intimidated by him? Most everyone was. Even Mike Johnson, the kid who told me and Peter about him, looked like he was going to pass out of fright. Or was that because he was running back and forth so much? Maybe that Bureau woman was being held hostage…in her own home? No, that couldn't be right. I took a sip of coffee, only to find that it was empty…and so was the coffeemaker.

I rubbed my forehead, overrun with exhaustion. I wanted to sleep, but my body was keeping me up. Reverse insomnia.

Someone knocked on the door. "Tired?" Peter. I put on a smile and tried to defy his observations.

"No. I'm fine." I could barely see his face through my sleepiness. I covered up an enormous yawn with my hand, brushing it off with a sweep of my hair.

"Liar." He smirked. I could hear it in his voice. I immensely enjoyed his humor, and his company. It brought me closer to him in ways he would never know. I thought longingly of him when I was away, thinking 'I wonder what Peter would say. Something witty, like always, but then I'd have to cover my laugh with a cough and then Walter would want to run tests on my mucus' or something like that. I couldn't say I was in love with him, but I could honestly say that I loved him. Easily. Well, who wouldn't? "Come on. The couch is waiting for you." He offered. I got up, but only went over to the doorframe. He looked at me, and then his features hardened. "Do you hear that?"

Was my fatigue getting to me? "What?" my eyes opened widely, as if I could hear better through my sight. "What is it?"

"The couch…" I scoffed. "It calls to you." He darted around the side of the worn brown loveseat and his behind it. "Olivia…" he said in a squeaky voice. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Sit on me…" I let out a laugh.

"O Couch of Greatness, how come you speaketh to me now?" I asked, humoring Peter as I took a step forward. Okay Shakespearean improve wasn't my thing…

"Because your sleepiness calls to me…so sweet, like music…" I smirked again.

"And what does it sing?" I asked, standing on the threshold of the couch.

"It sings la, la, lalala, la, la…" I sank down onto the couch, my energy draining and my eyes closing.

"I love you, Your Couchiness…" I said.

"I love you too." But the couch hadn't spoken. It was Peter. Suddenly my heart raced and my blood felt very hot in my veins. His voice was right in front of me. I opened my eyes, and he was about six inches above my face. I smiled at him, and he started to kiss me. Clothes were lost, and bonds were broken and reformed. We lay there, panting, and he held my hand. I was on his chest, and dozing quietly.

"See, you weren't tired after all."

* * *

_Don't kill me just because I can't write a sex scene. I'll have to hire one of my associates..._

_Okay: Key Terms_

_Massive Dynamic: Think Apple, times a hundred._

_William Bell: Bill Gates, but a million times smarter, and he's in another reality (again, google explains it better than I can, mi amigos). Played by Leonard Nimoy (Mr. Spock)_

_Nina Sharp: William Bell's assistant/second-in-command. She has a robotic arm._

_"other universes": JJ Abrams really likes this kind of stuff. If you've seen the new Star Trek movie, you'll see what I mean. Other universes are like the innumerable amounts of deja vu. But deja vu, in Fringe, is described as a person slipping into other universes, different from our own. William Bell and Walter Bishop (see below) created this doorway to another universe, and now things are getting kinda haywire because...total power corrupt totally._

_Walter: the Bishop father, locked in a mental hospital for seventeen years, and didn't see his son (Peter) grow up. He's a scientist in all things odd (and questionable, if you ask me) and was landed in St. Clares (ironically, the name of our local Catholic church XD) because of this horrible accident resulting in the death of a lab assistant. ALSO, the "no, Walter" in the previous chapter was the lab assistant in the show, Astrid (played by Jasika Nicole. Yes, that's where I got the name from), telling Walter (in my mind) not to eat barbecue chips and dissect a body at the same time. He does these things--eats licorice with one hand while examining a brain with the other, drinks a Slurpee (or ICEE, if you will) while examining a body that had spontaneously burst into flames, etc. Watch the show. You'll see what I mean. Better yet, go read some Fringe fanfics. Expecially the one where they all get drunk. Don't eat anything while reading it. Save your screen._

_Peter: the estranged, lonely son, who cheated his way through YALE (when I fist heard this, my face was O_o) and has a wide array of sneaky little people who deal in the oddest things. I wouldn't say insanity runs in the family (except in the 1930s movie Arsenic and Old Lace) but let's just call Peter resourceful for now. His relationship with Olivia in the show is mainly professional, but dabbles into the whole brother/sister thing. I've been busting my ass for two years now, trying to convince my Fringe-friend, Alex, that they would be the cutest couple EVER! See the episode called 'A New Day in the Old Town' on the link in my profile._

_Olivia: she's just a whiney bitch who doesn't deserve Peter as much as I do. Blonde bastard._

_Love,_

_Bailey_


	12. A Promise

_Yeah just kidding. Merry Christmas!!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altair, although I hope you'll agree that I can make him act sexier than he already is by reading this.**

* * *

I silently let Altaïr walk back upstairs. I bit my lip to keep from saying anything. When the door closed behind him, I let out a shuddering breath. This was insane. How could I have let him get so close to me? I should have made a break for the door while I had the choice. I threw open the door to the kitchen. I threw a look over at Johnny, who was whispering excitedly to Karina. Mary, bless her soul, was still working, although I could see her pointing an ear in their direction. I pretended to ignore them, and I got back to work on my 'Missing Slice' cake.

I decided on making a regular chocolate cake. The frosting would be a bright blue, with specks of chocolate in it. Then I would take a slice out for myself and eat it. Grudgingly. I began making the batter and tensed up when I felt Karina draw toward me. "So—"

"Don't even start." I interjected.

"—who was he?" she asked. I groaned and kept quiet. I poured the chocolate into the mix, ultimately adding peanut butter to the mix as well.

"That's for me to know and for you to forget. Immediately." I stated. She loomed over me like a tree, but not as much as Altaïr…I shook him out of my thoughts. Not now. Not at work. But his face, so close to mine, kept popping through my head, and I could feel my cheeks get hot.

"Ooh, you're thinking about him…you know you want to tell me…" she gave me a face that was close to looking like Mary's, but she was nowhere close to convincing me of anything.

"Get back to work." I said. She smirked and went back.

I could barely make out the sounds of "I told you so" a couple of seconds later. I sighed.

"My personal life has nothing to do with that conversation, does it?" I threatened. They got back to work. As I poured the brown batter into a mold, I heard something loud upstairs.

"So he's _living _with you? We leave you alone for two days, Lacrima…" they shook their heads as I set the bowl down and looked up at the ceiling. _Altaïr could handle this…_I thought. _Hopefully._

What was I going to do with him in the long run? I mean, he couldn't _live_ here, could he? He doesn't even have a Social Security Number! He's probably not educated, either. All he knows is a handful of languages, and he's really, freakishly agile. Maybe I should call that Dunham chick…and then what? What would I do? Turn him in? I couldn't do that. He'd just escape…and come to kill me. I bit my tongue at the thought. Looking down at the cake, I got a horrible idea. Could I kill him? He'd probably outsmart me in every way possible, and then kill me. Why did all of these possibilities end in me dying? _Maybe_ I could call that Peter guy. He put up with me and my rapid-fire French, and he seemed generally nicer than the woman. And, he was quite attractive, at that. At first, he was all tense, and then he started conjugating into the familiar form. I smiled at his quick wits and jokes he would all of a sudden crack.

Too many men. I continued my work, until there were no more Post-its on the wall.

* * *

I tried to pick up the large black box I had attempted to figure out. The one that Lacrima had called a 'music box'. It was surprisingly light, despite its large size. I left it alone. If I were to mess with it again, it would probably end up the same way. Or worse.

I sat on the 'couch', rethinking what I did, and what almost had happened.

We had been so close. Knowing Lacrima, the little that I do, she would probably write it off as teasing and try to shove me back, in a sense. But why did I do it? My body was screaming YES, and my mind was whispering maybe. Both pointed towards her and kissing her was one way of satisfying me. After I had kissed her sleeping lips last night, I realized I wanted to keep kissing her, over and over again until I died. Why? Every time I thought about her, my stomach would flip over on itself, and my heart would pound in my throat. I tried pacing, to clear my thoughts. Didn't work. I tried reading from the bookshelf by the 'couch'. The words hurt my eyes, and I didn't understand any of the stories. All I could think was Lacrima. Lacrima. Lacrima. Lacrima. Her name, so strange, and exotic, like my own.

By God, how were those thoughts coming to me? My free will was flitting around wildly, building up barriers for the urge, the raw _want_ to go back down the stairs and kiss her in front of everybody. I didn't care who was there, especially not that odd blue-haired man that had intruded on us. After he had left, I still would have kissed her. I would have kissed her until the sun went down. I would have kissed her asleep. I nearly ripped my hair out, trying to get those perfect lips out of my mind. But why would I want them gone? Was it so bad to have her in my head? Was it forbidden?

No. Not at all. She wasn't a married woman, so she was up for grabs. But…what if there was another? It would explain the men's clothing in the closet. I clenched my fists at the thought of some _other man_ kissing those lips. My lips.

I tried to sleep. All I could dream of was her. Her and those insanely blue eyes. Blue skies dulled at the color, and the brightest seas and rivers bowed to them. I wondered why I was so drawn to them…I couldn't place my finger on it. The night was falling quickly. I hoped Lacrima would be done. I had gone through this entire box of these too-sweet squares. They were covered in sugar, and I couldn't stop eating them. My stomach had begun to growl soon after, and I pushed the hunger out by lifting up heavy objects. That's where I had dropped the music box.

I was screaming in my head for her. Could she hear me? What time was it? It was impossible to tell; she had taken the smaller black box with her when she had left. I sighed and began smacking my head against the couch, which did no good and didn't give me the concussion I was hoping for.

I groaned aloud. This was torture. Could I die here? I bet I could. But what would happen to the rest of the Brotherhood? To Malik…?

Malik. Oh, God. Malik. He must be so worried about me, and—why would he be worried? I killed his brother. Well, not _technically_, but I had left them both to die. But it was not my fault! That rat's ass de Sable had pushed me off the roof, and if I were to stay, I would have died as well!

_You would let your friends die before you, Altaïr? For shame…_

No. Not this voice again.

_I am not just a voice, Altaïr. I am you. I live in you, next to you. All around you. I'm here to protect you._

From what? I don't need protecting.

_Lacrima. She is thinking of killing you._

Wh-why? Why would she want to kill me?

_Because you almost killed her, and you keep making sexual advances toward her. She finds it a threat…_

I'll stop! She'll see. You'll see.

The voice was silent. I felt so utterly confused. I held my head in my hands and sighed loudly. I needed to go home.

"Altaïr?" Lacrima called from the far doorway. She was unlocking the door, I suspect. I composed myself and set my expression straight.

"In here." I said in a loud-ish voice. I hoped she could hear me.

"Where?" she set something down on the table.

"I'm ri—what is that?" I had walked into the kitchen. She was holding a bundle wrapped in white.

"I got you some…necessities. Like soap, and a comb, and some…socks." She had trailed off.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"It's just…every time some guy comes to stay with me, they always leave and I'm a mess." She took a deep breath in, and I could see tears beginning to form in the corners of her beautiful eyes. "Please don't just storm out, like the others." Her lip was trembling. When I didn't answer, she added angrily, "Or you could just lea—" I pulled her into an embrace, her small figure warm under me. I let her go.

"I promise I won't leave without telling you." I concentrated on her, and I accidentally slipped into my sixth sense. The room around me dimmed, and her figure shone brightly blue. I smiled, and with seeing this, she smiled as well. The blue of her figure burst into brilliant flames, almost more so than her eyes. I raised a hand to my eyes.

"Are you alright?" my sixth sense slipped away, and I doubled over, my head throbbing violently. She rested her hand on my back and my chest, making my heart thump almost doubly so.

I managed to get the pain under control. "I'm fine. It's an assassin thing." But the pain kept going. Pounding, pounding in my head. My vision vibrated back and forth, and when Lacrima returned—wait, where'd she go?—she had a cup of water, so clear I almost thought it was invisible. I took a tentative sip at it. It was clean. Very clean. I downed it before I knew what was going on. I stood on the balls of my feet, somewhat reenergized.

"You don't look too hot." She said as I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. I opened my eyes. How had she gotten so close to me? Her eyes were strange, looking at me in a way of complete concentration. "Is there anything I can do for you?" I understood what she was trying to convey without words: finish what you started.

"Lacrima, you don't have to…" I cautioned as she placed a hand on my forearm. I felt a tingle run through me. This was crazy and good and crazy at the same time. Was this even happening?

"You don't have a choice." She said, pressing her lips to mine.

I nearly exploded. Every color of everything I'd ever seen rushed past my eyes. I felt like I was dying. Was I dying? I felt my eyes flutter shut. My breathing was fast and erratic. I started to feel dizzy. Then I realized I wasn't breathing at all. I took a deep breath and kissed Lacrima back, harder, more passionately. She moaned in approval.

I felt like a god.

I let my hands remove themselves from my side, and let the right one go up to her neck, and my left one splay against the small of her back. She suddenly pushed away from me. My eyes flew open. What was wrong?

My eyes asked and she replied. She was cradling her left arm in her hand. "Let's just…take it slow." She said, but the smile tugging on the edges of her mouth told me otherwise. My breathing was ragged and deep. She noticed that I saw her body language and turned around, walking toward the table.

"But that wouldn't be _fun_." I complained to her, in her ear. She visibly shuddered, and I could see her eyes close in ecstasy.

"I could always…not kiss you." She said smugly. She thinks she had the power.

I growled and spun her around on her heel, mashing my face up close to hers, but not touching. The tension between us was broken when I smashed my lips into hers. I licked at her lips, but she kept them closed. My hands resumed their positions and hers took up post at my neck and shoulder. I bit down on her bottom lip. Not hard, but enough to make her gasp in pleasure, providing me with an opening. She wasn't turning back. Our tongues danced together. The roof of her mouth tasted bittersweet, and I couldn't place the flavor. But it was utterly hers. I examined every one of her teeth with my tongue before I started trailing lovebites down her neck, moaning with every shiver that racked down her body. I couldn't help the smile that crept up on my face when I strayed further and further away from her face.

I kissed her knuckles, and every one of her fingertips. "That may be so, _bella mia_, but I could always…persuade."

I smirked at her bright-pink form as I slipped away into the bedroom.

* * *

_I DID IT AGAIN!!! And yes, I just made Altair speak Italian. Ooh, is this a precursor for sequels...?_

_**READ THIS **Interesting story about this chapter:_

_I'm writing this, right? I'm also texting my friend Gavin at the same time. He knows that I write this, and I told him I was (at first) writing a kissing scene. Small and light, totally innocent. Then, outta NOWHERE, he sends this text saying 'I think they should be doing it in a bathroom stall :)' and I'm all NO. My reasoning: Altair will probably have a panic attack (he's claustrophobic) and Lacrima will be all 'GET OUT I'M ON MY PERIOD' and then Altair (this is in my strange little mind) will be like 'I don't see any paper' and then Lacrima will start crying and the world will end. THEN, this baby was born. I was like YES A MAKE-OUT SCENE I CAN TORTURE READERS WITH and then I wrote it. Initially, Altair was supposed to run a fever, then Lacrima was supposed to put him on the bed (the line "can I do anything for you" was recycled) and then they started kissing and (because I'm so evil) Altair was supposed to fall asleep. THEN the kitchen scene (Gavin asks 'is she on the table or bent over it') and then the eventual cliffhanger at the end. ANYWAY, I was going to save it and then post it to , BUT my mouse spazzed and it clicked 'don't save'. I stared at the screen (Ezio is my desktop XD) for about five minutes and then I started to cry. I told Gavin what had happened and he was all 'NOOOOO' and then I had to rewrite it. Believe me, it was sadder than it sounds._

_IN CONCLUSION, remember to replace your mouse's battery every six months and don't talk to strangers. But Gavin's not a stranger; he's a teenager._


	13. A Question

_I decided to write this in spite of myself...not really. :)_

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.**

**-Ubisoft looks at the large black duffel bag I'm dragging- Hey, what's that?**

**-I look around- Uh...my cello?**

* * *

For a long time, I just sat there. Had that really just happened? I touched a finger to my lips, the ghost of his still lingering just there. My shoulder and neck throbbed. I was breathing raggedly, like the horny little dog the guitar shop owner has. I tried not to think about that…

Altaïr. That was the single word that was bouncing around my skull at twenty million miles an hour. It was screaming at me 'GO INTO YOUR ROOM AND SCREW HIM SENSELESS' but the persevering little voice told me otherwise, taunting me with a 'don't forget about Joshua…'

This was crazy. If he thought he was an _assassin_, then we had to talk, not kiss. Although he had crazy reflexes, and he could move anywhere as silent as the night, and he could jump down from a second-story balcony as easy as if he was breathing. _And he kissed like a god_…

* * *

I snapped back into reality. I sighed and got out a deck of cards. Hopefully this idea would work…

I sat on her bed. All was silent. I welcomed it peacefully.

Half of me was screaming for me to just take her on the table right there. That would be definitely odd, and awkward. Especially if she wasn't ready for that.

The other half, the more sensible side, I might add, was telling me to let her speak with me, and for me to listen to what she said. I had no idea why, but there was suddenly a tension in the air. I lifted my head. Lacrima was still in the other room.

"Altaïr?" she called softly. I got off the bed. She was still leaning against the table where I had left her. She was clutching her scarred forearm like a doll. She looked shaken. Had _I_ done this to her?

"Lacrima…" I whispered, drawing her warm body close to me. I stroked her hair as she shook in my arms. "I'm sorry, I won't do that again." Why was I _apologizing_?

"Altaïr—it's, it's not you. It's me. Him." _Him?_ I thought, outraged. So there _was_ another man! How stupid of me, I should've known—"Don't think that." She said as my body tensed. "I've just—" she sighed. "I've learned the hard way to take these things slow, and to make sure that—that I…make the right decisions." She sighed again. This was something big that she had to say. "So…" she said, pushing out of my grasp. I could have kept her there, but I let her go. She sat down in one of the chairs next to the table. "Take a seat and I'll explain."

I waited hesitantly for her to at least give me a hint at what she was planning; it also took me a second to realize she was telling me to sit. My eyes were locked onto her lips. I sat down uneasily. There was a box on the table. Small, smaller than my palm.

She opened it and took out a set of intricately-designed cards. She saw my gaze to them and explained as she shuffled them nonchalantly. "These are playing cards my parents gave me before they died. They had run through three generations, and they thought I would have a better use for them rather than my sister." She smiled and set the shuffled cards down on the table. "Since you probably won't recognize the characters for the cards, let's use colors. Red or black?" she asked.

"…red." I said slowly. I didn't know what the meaning of it was, or why she had even asked, but she continued on and I tried to understand what she was doing. She drew a card. There was a strange, curvy character in the upper left-hand corner and the lower right-hand corner. Beneath it was a black character. What did it mean?

"Okay, since the color is black, you ask me any question. There's an equal number of cards in the deck, don't worry. Go ahead and ask." I thought.

"Where did you…" _get that scar?_ I wanted to ask. I held out from saying it. "…grow up?" she gave me a relieved glance that I hadn't asked about the scar. That was obviously for another time.

"In a city called Belleville. I was born there. It's almost directly south of here. My parents lived there their whole life…" she stared off into space, remembering. I pulled her back in by drawing another card. Red.

"Your turn." I almost whispered. I felt anxious. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking; her face was stony.

"Why are you an assassin?" I was relieved she hadn't asked 'are you crazy' or something like that.

I took a deep breath. "When I was a young boy, my father murdered my mother. I was put at fault for his actions and I spent two years in jail. One of the assassins came to look for recruits and…well, I was there. It gave me a chance to channel and control my anger and rage against my father." I finished vaguely. She flipped a card. Red again.

"What's home…for you?" she sat back in her chair, trying to find a comfier position.

"The castle Masyaf. That's where the Brotherhood is. I've lived there ever since I'd been taken there." I felt a tug at my heart that longed for home. My room, my window, Malik…

"Red again." Lacrima's words penetrated my thoughts. "How old are you?"

* * *

"Twenty. My birth was on the summer solstice." _Explains the color of his eyes_, I thought. I reached for another card. Black ace. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty. My birthday is on the winter solstice." Complete opposites. Next card, red. "Explain to me what assassins do."

"We observe the world, and correct things when they go astray." He rattled off. I drew again. Red.

"Go on…" I said. I hoped I had shuffled them right…

"We kill not for violence, but for peace. When people lose sight of us, it's probably because we're satisfied with their actions." His eyes were straight-forward, not looking at me. He didn't believe in these things. I almost shuddered at the thought. The next card was a black one, finally. "When you talk about _him,_" I froze, my heart stopping in my chest. Don't ask it, don't ask it. "Are there others?" I let out a giant sigh.

"Were. I could name them off, if you'd like." I realized this was the wrong thing to say to an assassin. Thank God he didn't really register the words. I pulled another red from the middle of the deck and placed it on the table with the others. "So, uh…what do you do in your…spare time?"

"Sleep." He answered. Was he tired? I mean, it was getting pretty late. Geez, how long had he kissed me for? Black next. "Same question."

"Read, bake…sleep." The edges of his lips twitched, fighting off a smile. Another black. Was this karma?

"When did your parents die?" the question came as such an act of boldness from him, I had to look into his eyes to see if he was serious.

"Ei-Eight months ago. An…accident." I said, just as vaguely as he had. If he had caught my stutter, he didn't show it. I averted my eyes and drew another card. This was karma. Another black.

"What kind of accident?" he asked. I felt my heart aching. I didn't want to talk about this. I was reliving all of my nightmares.

"Fire. Their house was set on fire." I drew another card. Red. "What about your father?" I bit back. My lip was trembling.

"I tracked him down when I was fifteen. I killed him." He killed his own _father_? I was sitting here with either a sociopath or a crazy. He seemed like a little of both, by the looks of it. But I wasn't afraid of him. He was in unfamiliar territory. Don't shoot the tour guide. I pulled a reluctant black. "Do you know why your parents were killed?" I felt my nose start to burn and my cheeks flush. Why was he asking these things?

"The police said it was gang activity, but they lived in a bad part of town, so I mean, you can expect…" but you couldn't really tell. The lives of my parents were shrouded in something. Something dark, especially the last few months before they died. They seemed anxious, and always jumped at every noise. I didn't want to think about it. "Why are you asking me these things?" I demanded.

"Is it your turn?" he asked slowly. I quickly flipped over a three of hearts.

"Answer. Me." I seethed.

"I'm asking you these things so I can understand you better. To recognize the lines not to cross." I realized I was eating my own words for a reason. I took a deep breath and got up, getting water. I heard him flip a card. "Why are you asking me these things about my own life?" I made sure he wasn't cheating.

"Same reason." I stated, sitting down with two glasses of water. Another black found its way onto the table.

"Where is this place, compared to, say, Jerusalem?" he sat back in his chair, but I could tell that his mind was sharp.

"On the other side of the world." I said. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth formed a small 'o'. I pulled a red. "What about you? Is there a girl waiting back in the twelfth century?"

"…no. Not anymore." He looked away. I was edging closer to his boundaries. I flipped another red, giving me an opening.

"What's her name?"

"Maria." He said so low, I could barely hear it. His face was contorted in rage. I could only pray that he didn't hurt me. A black. "Has anyone ever broken your heart?" he said without looking at the card.

"Of course." I said. _They've broken quite a few other things as well…_

Ace of hearts. Should I stray closer to the line?

"I…" words escaped me. "D-do they teach you how to kiss like that in your Brotherhood?" I tried to lighten the mood. Altaïr's eyes flickered up to mine, thankful for the change of subject. I noticed something else in his eyes as well.

"Let's just say I've had my fair share of practice." He said with a sly smile. My heart thumped in my chest. Black. "Same question."

"Same answer." I said back. A red. We were getting into a pattern now. "Tell me. Would you mind if I did…this?" I got up and planted myself in his lap. He stared at me with those honey-brown eyes I had tried to recreate in a cake this morning. God, did that cake taste good.

"Not at all. If anything, it's encouraged." He purred. "My turn." His hand had reached around me and pulled another card. "Same question, but…" his hands began to crawl under my shirt, sending shivers up to my brain. I removed my hands from his neck and pushed them on his wrists.

"Not yet, mister." I looked around at the card being flipped by Altaïr. I smirked at the nine of diamonds staring up at me. "What about…this?" I asked, my hands matching his only seconds ago. He smiled, his eyes dark with lust. He let me remove his shirt and toss it to the ground. His muscles gleamed in the kitchen's dull light. I rested my hands on his chest, earning me a low groan in his throat. I pulled away and took another card off the deck, which was slowly running out. Another red for me…

"Where'd you get…?" I brushed my lips against a scar by his collarbone. His skin was hot. "This one." I murmured against the white zigzagged line.

"I was fighting off guards after I had killed an important merchant. Me against fifteen." I vaguely thought he was being a little self-conscious, but I shrugged it off as bragging. His breath was ragged. I slid my hands along his ribcage, but they were clasped by his own. "Ah, ah, ah…my turn." Sure enough, there was a seven of spades resting on the top of the deck. I turned back and my lips crashed into his.

* * *

_Mwahahahaha!!_

_**READ THIS **Interesting story about my life..._

_Okay, so I was playing ACII on my PS3, right? Right. I had literally JUST started playing it, like THAT MOMENT where Ezio starts to fight the other dudes (because all that crap leading up to the actual GAME was NOT the GAME) and I start yelling at the TV. Because Ezio keeps getting POUNDED by these guys and I realize: my controller is off. I do a V-8-worthy headsmack and turn it on and kick everybodie's asses. THEN, in the little cutscene where Ezio and Federico are talking, Ezio says this line "It's just a scratch." OKAY, your lip is bleeding and you look like you've just been in a fight. Oh, wait. Nevermind. Then I yell at the TV "Just a SCRATCH? That is NOT a scratch! Some dude just threw a fucking ROCK at your FACE! Or did you get high off of Opium or some shit like that? Stupid Italian!" (No offense to Italians, btw. You guys ROCK) And then, I kid you not, on the TV (my ranting had gone on for quite a while) they were at the weird bird-doctor and Ezio says "Fuck you" to his brother and my inner fangirl came out and started screaming "OH MY GAWD HE'S REALLY TALKING TO MEEE!!" and then I realized that if was a cutscene. Damn you, Federico. Damn you and your fucking feather brother._

_MORAL: Don't get angry at videogames. They can't hear you._


	14. An Answer

_WARNING: Sexiness is in this chapter. Fangirly (and fanguyly, if you swing that way) screams of "I'm gonna kill this author" will be heard across the world._

**Disclaimer: Yet again, I do NOT have Altair's body in my duffel bag.**

**...it's Ezio! XD**

* * *

I moved my body so I was facing him. I took his face in my hands and moved it so our noses weren't smashing the others'. I counted to ten (I kept losing track of numbers) in my head before I pulled back. He reached past me and showed me the ten of spades he had pulled from the deck. I almost ripped my shirt off when he took the lower hems in his fists and tugged it over my head.

A slow draft rolled over my body, and I shivered onto his chest. I managed to blindly find the pile of cards and pick up a ten of hearts. "Your shoes. Take 'em off." I ordered into his chest. I felt the floor thump twice as the vintage Converse hit the floor. He looked at me expectantly. Oh. I reached around for the deck of cards. I placed them in the waist of my jeans, pulling out a king of spades and letting it drop to the linoleum. I waited for him to move. I realized I hadn't said anything. "Oh. Your turn."

He smiled slowly and took the rubber band out of my ponytail. My long black hair fell around my bare shoulders. I took another card. Queen of hearts. I found an interesting scar on his body, dangerously close to his waistline. "What about…this one?" his eyes glazed over in pleasure as I gently rubbed circles around it. It curved like a moon. I don't think I was going to kiss this one…yet.

"I…I can't remember." He huffed. My actions were muddling his thoughts. I rested my forehead on his, letting us breathe for a second.

"Yes you can…" I taunted.

"I…was…running over…rooftops, and I…miscalculated…" he managed to whisper, his breath hitching every few seconds.

"Altaïr…that's a little dangerous, don't you think?" I whispered to his nose. I pulled a two of spades up from my hip. I showed it to him before tossing it over my shoulder. He shook his head no, and move on.

"Who's the bastard that did this to you?" he began to trail kisses over my own scar. It snaked the entire way from my elbow to the middle of my palm. I froze.

"…later. Not now." I promised. He nodded. I pulled the red card—he had gotten it himself—from his hand and this time pulled him in for a kiss, letting the card fall down his back and onto the chair. He managed to get his warm tongue in my mouth, and I breathed in his musk almost like it was air to survive. I took the three of diamonds from his grasp again and left it on the table. My bra was uncomfortable against his chest, but I didn't want to remove it. Yet…I took the next card. A queen of clubs. "I think we should go into the bedroom." I breathed.

* * *

He stood up, and I did as well. He slammed me against the wall on the way to the bedroom, and wrapped my legs around him. How the cards stayed in my pants was a miracle. I remembered the cards as he kicked the door shut. The light was on, thank goodness. I would've forgotten it otherwise. There were only about fifteen of cards left, but I somehow knew that they would be enough. "Hold on." I whispered into his neck. He growled like some feral animal. "Calm down, tiger." I took the card in my hand and managed to register it. Three of spades. I said to him, "Get on the bed." And he did. He bit his lip in a lack of patience, lust radiating off of him. I set the deck of cards down on the side table and picked up the next card. Five of diamonds. I showed it to him and—wait. Wasn't _I_ red? I ignored it and showed it to him. He suddenly had that same look of confusion that I did, and immediately threw it over his head.

"Get on the bed, now." He growled. I teased him by sitting down daintily on the edge of the bed, my back towards him. With a yelp, he had pulled me down underneath him, our legs tangled in the others' as well as the sheets. I was about to protest, but he waved the jack of hearts in my face. He stopped waving it so he could slide the seven of hearts and the six of diamonds out from the back. "I get a longer turn." He growled, pressing his body against mine, earning him a whimper of pleasure as he bit down on my lip. His hands were on either side of my face, and they suddenly buckled and he went down on his elbows, almost all of our skin touching. He pressed his lips to a soft spot in the crook of my neck, and his tongue shot out. My back arched into him, and his hand went to the small of my back. I managed to unhook myself just enough from his grasp so I could snatch a black card from the pile.

"My turn." I stated, taking the zipper of his pants in my index finger and thumb. His need pulsed against my hand. He let out a high-pitched moan and I dragged the small tab down, releasing his tension. I took the button in my fingers, then stopped.

"Wh-why'd you st-stop?" he said, his voice thick and heavy with want.

"Is it my turn?" I asked. He let me pick up a card. I showed him the queen of diamonds. "Nope. All yours, Altaïr."

"Undo it." He whispered in my ear. My blood was rushing, and my heart was pumping like a machine. My hands fumbled against the rough denim, just brushing against the bulge in his pants. He moaned again and almost fell on top of me. I managed to undo the button and he snatched my hands away and pinned them up by my head. He swooped down to kiss me, but I twisted my head away and felt his lips on my ear, slightly improvising by nibbling on the lobe. I started to giggle.

"Take a card, babe." I managed to say through my laughing. I heard him groan in annoyance, but he picked up a card anyway.

"Black." Mine. Catching him off guard (but I think he just let me), I twisted my body just so, so that I could flip him over with ease. We were now in the center of the bed. The card pile was getting thin…I reached over to the pile, tucking a couple strands of hair behind my ear.

"Red." I gave another yelp of surprise as he flipped me over to where I was before.

Altaïr reached for the pile again, when I evaded his lips for a second time. "Black." He growled. I flipped him again. I reached for the pile.

"Red. Please—" but before I could say anything, he had flipped me again. "Are we just going to keep doing this?" I asked, no longer evading his lips. The furious kissing had been replaced with a gentle push. No longer was there a _desperation _for sex, but it was just an _option_, thank God. I don't think having sex with him would strengthen our relationship any…

"As long as we need to." He growled, moving his lips down to my breastbone. I shuddered, reaching for a card. Black. I shoved his head back with unnecessary force, and flipped him over. He was inevitably expecting this. He turned around, smiling at me like I was a goddess. I pouted at his face.

"If it's red, don't flip me over again." I warned, straddling his hips. I reached for a card. Black. I smirked at the card and set it down next to him. I leaned forward towards Altaïr, crawling up his chest until I was flush with his lips. I leaned forward tantalizingly slow, and barely brushed my lips against his. He shivered in pleasure. "Next card, babe." Another black. He was putty in my hands. I crawled down his body, leaving soft kisses down his chest. I rested my ear on his heart. The beating was putting me into a trance.

"It's still your turn." Altaïr reminded me. "For…two more cards." He smiled and I told him to sit up. He complied, and I matched his movements.

"Have you ever been in love? Like, deep, passionate, I-never-want-to-stop-kissing-you love?" his face slowly broke into a large grin that took my breath away.

"I am now." He took me in his arms, and kissed me once on the head, and once more on the mouth. His steady breathing, strong arms, and now-even heartbeat lulled me to sleep.

* * *

This was crazy. I felt like I was falling through a long tunnel when I was with her. Her small body fell limp against my own. I kept an iron grip on her. I was not letting her go. Ever. I would kill myself if I were to go back home. It would be the first thing I'd do. I'd drown for her. I'd bleed myself dry for her. I'd ram my brain with a stone for her. I'd poison myself for her.

_See, she _is_ trying to kill you_, the sarcastic voice told me.

I will kill you, if it's the last thing I ever do. I would _never_ hurt Lacrima. My perfect teardrop. I traced the long white scar with my fingertips, suddenly angered. Who in their right mind could have done this to her?

I eventually fall asleep, my arms still around her.

* * *

_Awww wasn't that so CUTE?_

_My friend (guess who) was taunting me to go further, but I have yet to delve into that sort of writing. For now, let's strangle Lacrima with her own words and take it slow._

_A/N: if you have time, and you count all the cards, there're 52. I used an actual deck of cards for this chapter, and it took surprisingly less time than I thought it would. The cards come into play later, as does L's scar, and Maria, and L's parent's deaths, and so many other things I overlooked when writing this chapter._

_Review nicely!! But tell me if I suck at these sorts of scenes! (i.e. the rolling and flipping—blame my impatient mind and the deck of cards)_

_Love,_

_Bailey_

_BTW I need a beta DESPERATELY._


	15. An Escape

_Heeey!! Sorry about the delay in updates, my beta and I were hard at work editing, re-editing, coming up with ideas, and all that jazz so the story can be BETTER!! (double-post!!)_

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters in Assassin's Creed, but I can make them do things they're rather ashamed of...(drinking out of toilets XD)**

* * *

I woke to the sound of someone banging on my door. Altaïr…? No. Altaïr still had his arms wrapped around me. Maybe I had imagined it. Altaïr…his arms were so warm…I felt myself dozing off again. His arms tensed around me. He had heard it too.

_KnockKnockKnockKnockKnock._

This time, it wasn't my imagination. The stagnant silence drew in over both of us. I shivered. This was scary.

More knocking. It was more urgent, like someone was desperately trying to get in. The wood was groaning under their fists, and it sounded like there was more than one person outside. Altaïr sat up, unwinding his arms from around my waist.

"Who is it?" I whispered so softly, I didn't even know if I had said it.

"Shh…" he whispered. I held my breath. He was staring off mid-distance, as if deep in thought. He seemed to be concentrating intently on the person/persons outside. "We need to get out of here." He suddenly said in my ear. I nodded. What else was there to do?

I realized that two half-naked people walking around the streets of Boston wasn't unusual, but it was September, so I threw a shirt at Altaïr as I silently tugged on a sweatshirt. I could see him looking for something. His knives. I cursed myself. They were still in the kitchen!

"Aw, come on, Rober', they're not 'ere." An exasperated voice said from outside my door. I was jack-knifed straight. I knew that voice. Too well.

"They're here. I can feel it." Another voice growled. They sounded vicious, and strong. I flashed a look at Altaïr. He was clenching his fists and rotating his shoulders. Warming up.

Altaïr made a motion for me to get behind him. I did so quietly, knowing where every creaking floorboard there was. I was light on my feet (I had slipped on my shoes as well as my sweatshirt) and ready to start running.

"Have you even tried the handle, stupid?" the one called Robert said.

"Oh. Yeah."

You know how the door handles in movies slowly push down, and then the door opens? It's nothing like that. The man pushed the handle down and slammed the door open in under a second, his face going from sheepish to surprised. "They're—!" he managed to get out before Altaïr punched him in the face, then turned to the other guy.

If Altaïr was six feet tall, then he must've been six foot seven. His bald head barely touched the ceiling. His face was set into a scowl, as was Altaïr's. Did they know each other?

"De Sable." He growled. So he _did_ know who he was. I started to edge my way over the body of the man I refused to look at. I knew I would start screaming at any second.

"Ahh, so _you're _the assassin they sent to guard this filth." He spat in my direction. The tall man said this next part amusedly. "You're…different than what I would have thought." The man gave Altaïr a once over, and his hand twitched near his beltline. He had a gun. I tugged Altaïr on the sleeve, a sign to keep him occupied.

"What do you want?" he ground out. I inched backwards toward the sink, where his weapons were waiting under the counter. I could hear Altaïr trying to push him back towards the living room, to break his line of sight on me.

"What every man wants. Peace." He laughed loudly, setting my teeth on edge and my blood cold.

"I question your motives for this goal, though. If my history is correct, you choose to achieve peace through death." Of course his history is correct. He's from the twelfth century. I sat back against the counter. Robert knew that he would be there if I tried to escape, even with Altaïr.

"These deaths and campaigns are all large steps forward for the plan." Robert said vaguely. My hand was on the edge of the cabinet. "The plan for peace."

"Or anti-democracy." My fingers made a small gap in the space between the slabs of wood.

"You know just as much as I do that anarchy isn't a wise choice." He paused. "Surely you remember what happened just last month." I felt my entire body freeze. I'd forgotten so many things I needed to educate Altaïr about. _Especially_ the Month of Anarchy.

"Yes, I remember." I inched the cabinet forward, straining for the powers of telepathy. "A wise move on our part, if you ask me. Much was accomplished." He had emphasized in the right places, thank God. As vague an answer as any, but it managed to get a point across to Robert.

"What's your name, assassin? I didn't see you at the last ambush." this guy was mental. I bent down slowly for the nearest weapon. It was a short sword of some kind. It came out of the sheath easily. I took a step forward. Robert's back was now to me, and Altaïr made no move to say anything.

"If I told you, you'd have to die." I was about seven feet from Robert. My feet were placed directly in front of the man on the ground. I held the knife, about half the size of my arm, over my head, ready to throw.

I waited. Waited. Waited.

Finally, the nod. I released the knife, missing my target (his heart) by inches. He was still knocked off-guard, and it plunged into his abdomen. He sputtered and blood leaked out of the wound like a faucet. Altaïr sprang into action. He removed the knife from his back, and wiped it on his shirt sleeve, the white now stained with red. The man didn't move.

"Who the hell was _that_?" I almost shrieked. He moved into the bedroom. I followed him in, quickly side-stepping around the bodies, not looking at either of them.

"Get packed. We're leaving." He started picking up random objects, like clothes, and my alarm clock. I took the alarm clock from his hands, and set it angrily back down on the table.

"Leaving?" I snatched a backpack out from the shelf in my closet. "Where? Why?"

"Those men were Templars. Pack all you need to survive. Where are my weapons? And my robes?"

"Weapons are under the sink in the kitchen. Your clothes are in the cabinet to the right. _Templars?_ As in the gang?" I shoved some shirts and the first aid box into the backpack. I went into my money stash and fished out all of it, separating some into my pockets.

"Not a harmless gang. A group of men, specifically designed to kill." _Like yourself,_ I thought. "Do you have any idea why they were after you?"

"N-no. I mean, maybe, but…it's just not relevant." I said, zipping the backpack up. I tore off the sweatshirt, replacing it with two green t-shirts before putting the sweatshirt back on.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted." He said from the door, his robes in his hands and his weapons assembled all over his body. He had slipped his leather boots on instead of Converse. He looked deadly, to say the least.

"Now is not the time to speak in riddles, Altaïr. We need to get out of here. Where are we going to go, though?" I started to panic. This was crazy, this was crazy. Now _Templars_ were after me! Not just a gang, I remembered.

"Then let's go. Can you carry this?" he handed me the robes anyway, and I stuffed them into the backpack. It now weighed about seven pounds, with all the stuff in it. Slinging it over my back, I followed Altaïr out the door and down the dew-soaked steps. I nearly slipped and fell, but Altaïr scooped me up with his arms and started running.

"Where are you going?" I asked as he turned a corner. He didn't answer me. "Altaïr, so help me, I will scream—" he finally turned around in an alley and set me down. I dusted myself off and took in my surroundings.

"Please, don't make any noise. I'm not sure if we were followed." He disappeared for about ten seconds before coming back around the wall. I felt suddenly so very tired. "We're alone." I couldn't tell if this was either bad or good.

"Altaïr…" I said warningly. His weapons glinted in the light of the streetlamps.

There was a leather brace that cut diagonally across his chest, which forked out into two directions, going under his armpit and over his shoulder. Over his forearms were two metal bracers that looked like the scales of a fish. Over his stomach was a large brown belt-type thing that held four throwing knives on either side. Over his shoulder was a fan of more throwing knives, and I'm pretty sure there were more elsewhere. On his hip rested a long sword that went almost to the ground. Its sheath was black, but that must've been because of the shadows. I'm sure there were more weapons there than I saw.

Altaïr noticed my gaze and immediately relaxed.

"There is no reason to fear me. I will not harm you." His words bounced off of me.

"Where the _fuck_ did you get that shit?" I snarled, at a disadvantage because he was at the mouth of the alley. I edged backwards, trying not to get him to notice me slipping away.

"If you escape, I cannot protect you. And every assassin has these weapons. Or do you still not believe me?" he took a step forward, I took two back. "Lacrima, I will not hurt you."

"As if this is something easy to take in!" I said, with ice in my voice.

"Lacrima, if there's somewhere I can take you—?" I cut him off.

"Just…shut up for a second, alright?! I need to think." I kept backing up, until I felt a fence about three feet away from me. Altaïr didn't move a muscle. Maybe if I…

* * *

She had slipped out of sight, but my sixth sense told me she was still in the alley. Her blue light lit up the alley. No one else was in sight. The alley was small, but long. It would take me at least a few seconds to sprint over to her.

I shouldn't have put on _all_ the equipment at once. It would most likely make me look suspicious, and in this day and age, not many people spoke Arabic, or even dressed the same. And either way, I should've told her about the various knives and swords before I just _thrust_ them into her view.

"Lacrima?" I called.

"I'm still here." She said, walking back. When she was graced with the light from the black pole, her skin bathed in yellow.

"We need to get moving." I began to walk. I heard her sigh and pick up the bag.

"Where did you have in mind?" she asked once she had caught up with me.

"I have no idea. Just away from there. As long as we keep moving, we're safe." We walked in silence, turning random corners.

"So what happens when they find us?" she eventually asked.

"Well, since I'm an assassin, and you're wanted by them as well, we'd probably be executed on the spot. And your city guard will be notified when they find the bodies of the men in your house."

"The _police??_" she tensed next to me. "God, I'm a wanted criminal. Oh, God! I _killed_ that guy!" her breath came short and shallow. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her in tight. It was always, _always_ the first kill that got to anyone.

"Shh. It's fine." I said, stroking her hair until she calmed down. "I would have done the same thing."

"Of course you would've, you're insane." She mumbled into the blue shirt. Her breathing calmed down and she eventually removed herself from my grasp. We walked along the street and then she spoke. "What are we going to do?"

The ultimate question. She knew the city. I knew how to protect her.

"Tell me why you think they're after you." I said after a while. She pointed to a nearby bench. We were in a park now.

"A couple months ago, two of the gang members came into The Bureau and started asking questions about me. Luckily one of my workers convinced them that I was fired because they looked really suspicious. I rarely go out of the shop anyways. But they were asking about the family tree on the wall."

"What family tree?" I asked.

"I have this family tree on the wall that goes all the way back to…actually, it goes back to your time. Do you know someone named Marid Al-Sayif?" my mind froze. Marid was the weapons specialist in Masyaf. The only one who could beat me with a sword, despite me being two years older than him. The one with incredibly blue eyes.

"Yes, I know him. He's an assassin. You have his eyes." She shifted on the spot. "I see why you have no other names. His parents were murdered by Saracen soldiers when he was younger."

"I see. So I'm a descendant of an assassin." She whispered.

"I see where you got your power with knives." I said.

"Yeah. I mean, when I threw that knife at you, I was just protecting myself, and I felt bad about it afterward. Then, when I threw your uh, sword at that Robert guy, I felt this sort of…I don't know, sensation that let me, I don't know, think better. That's probably why I didn't have a panic attack when I was packing."

"But you are now, so it proves you are only human." I said, trying to comfort her.

"Sure. Just let me wallow in my sorrow." Wrong thing to say, obviously.

I should have apologized, but I just sat there in silence. "You should sleep." I said after a while. She nodded and gave me the bag.

"This is gonna be hard." She mumbled into my shoulder as she fell asleep.

If only we knew.

* * *

_Oh, and it keeps getting better!! Onto the next chapter!!_


	16. A Leap of Faith

_I'm introducing some...recognizable characters, and deepening the plot, so y'all pay attention!_

**Disclaimer: Help raise money for the Charity of World Destruction! All proceedings will go towards helping me to bribe Ubisoft in handing over the rights!! (but for now, I still don't own them**)

* * *

I woke up when the sun was beginning to peek over the horizons of the distant buildings, a frigid chill setting over me. Altaïr shivered under me. I slithered my arms around his waist. He wasn't used to the cold. "Cold?" I asked, my breath creating fog in the air around me.

"It's never b-b-been this c-c-c-c-cold f-fuh-fo-for me." His teeth chattered. I searched around in the backpack for a sweatshirt I had packed for him.

"Take off your weapons, then put this on." I ordered. He stood up and disconnected the leather strap from his torso. Handing it to me, I treated it delicately. I put my hand on the hilt of the short sword I had used to kill that man before I asked, "May I?"

Altaïr stopped in the middle of taking off his belt and nodded. I unsheathed it, feeling the light weight of it in my hands. The blade shone in the dim morning light, but it made a small smile tug on the ends of my lips. Altaïr was set back into motion. There was an engraving in Arabic on the handle: I read it aloud.

"Nothing is true, everything—" Altaïr finished for me.

"Is permitted. You read Arabic as well?" he asked, tugging the sweatshirt on.

"Yes. Read, write, speak. They teach all three now." I smirked, putting the sword away. "You said it before. What does it mean?"

"It means—" he was cut off by a loud noise, followed by a black van that swooped around a corner and sped up towards us. It was hugging the curve, and then it popped onto it. It was meaning to hit us.

"We have to go. Now!" I yelled, throwing the backpack over my shoulder, and starting to run. Altaïr was putting on his equipment and running next to me. His longer legs were outpacing me, and I had to struggle to keep up with him. The van grew steadily louder as it gained on us. We hung a sharp right as they came up on our tail. Who were these people? As planned, they zoomed down the street, barely missing our heels. I tugged Altaïr into an alley, and ushered him up the fence dividing the middle. "Go, go!" I said. He hopped over and waited for me. I tossed down the backpack once I got to the topmost point. I could hear them turning around.

"Jump!" he said.

"What? Are you cra—?"

"JUMP!" he roared. I closed my eyes and jumped. The wind flew past me quickly, and then it stopped when I did, except the wind didn't say 'oof' as it hit Altaïr's arms. He set me down and gave me the backpack. "Let's go." He said, tugging me by my hand. I felt like a little doll.

"Stop! We're here to save you! The Templars are after you, aren't they?" I nearly dislocated my shoulder when I stopped. If Altaïr hadn't have stopped as well, my arm would've been torn out. I turned around. A woman was standing at the fence we had just (well, _I_ had just) jumped from. From where I could see, she was blonde, and wearing a white shirt. But the white shirt wasn't emblazoned with a red cross.

"What do you want?" I called. Altaïr seemed deep in thought.

"We want to help you! Both of you!" her voice was getting hoarse.

"We can trust her." Altaïr whispered low in my ear. I tried to fight off the feeling that tremored through me, but it was hard.

"How do you know this?"

"Assassin thing." He said. He nodded to me and started to walk over. I pulled on his sleeve, making him turn to face me.

"What if she's lying?" I asked frantically.

"She speaks about the Templars like they are: scum. If there's anyone we can trust right now, it's her." I bit my lip and rubbed my scar.

"If you're sure…" he pulled me along by my hand, my feet stumbling over each other even though I nearly sprinted to the fence.

"Whoa…so that's what they were looking for…" she whispered aloud as we came nearer. She was looking at Altaïr.

"Who are you? Speak." Altaïr commanded.

"My name is Lucy Stillman. I'm an assassin. Please, I'll explain in the van." She was looking at Altaïr like he was some sort of ghost. Altaïr motioned for me to start climbing. As soon as I was two feet off the ground, he was already at the top, climbing over the fence.

When I was at the top, something sharp poked my neck. I gasped and fell to the ground, unsure if anyone was going to catch me.

* * *

"NO!" I shouted as she began to sway to the other side. I pulled out my long sword and began to climb after her.

"No, stop! They'll kill you!" the Lucy person said.

"I'm not leaving her to die!" I said. I was over the top of the fence now, my sixth sense kicking in, illuminating the alleyway. No one was here, but there was a faint red spot in a window in one of the buildings. I focused in on it. It was a Templar. I ground my teeth and slung Lacrima over my shoulder, starting to climb back. "Catch her!" I yelled. Lucy nodded and changed her stance. I didn't believe she was an _assassin_, but I thought she had information, and she was on our side, and not going to kill us. Not that I'd let her, anyway.

I carefully dropped the limp body down the space between us. I could hear footfalls coming from the other end of the alley. Templars. I knew this wasn't the time to fight, but my hand itched for my sword, ready to kill anyone in my path. "Let's go! This is not the time." Lucy's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I easily landed on the ground and took Lacrima from her arms. She had a needle sticking out of her neck. "Get in the van!" lucy yelled.

A deafening _bang_—no, more like _BANG!_—erupted from the other side of the alley. The breath was knocked out of me, but by what? I looked around hurriedly, but there was no one there. Lucy motioned for us to get in the "van". There were other people in there, but I couldn't register faces or words. Not even my sixth sense was working anymore. "It's too late for you, assassins!" someone laughed, penetrating through the fog of my mind.

I turned my head to the sight of Robert De Sable.

"It's far too late for you!" a heavy metal door slid shut across the opening I crawled through.

My mind slowed down immeasurably. "Let's go, before they dispatch cars." Lucy said to a man up front. He nodded and the van lurched forward.

I turned my attention back to Lacrima. A woman I hadn't seen before was fluttering around, her hands everywhere at once. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Rebecca Crane, and that up there is Shaun Hastings." I noted the man in the corner, but made no comment of him. He didn't seem to be awake. "It seems that everyone in here is an assassin, or a descendant." My side had begun to ache. Had I snagged it somewhere?

"What did they do to her?" Rebecca pulled out the needle. It didn't seem that long…

"Poison dart. Lucky for us, we have an entire arsenal of both anti-venom and all the antidotes for their precious poisons."

"Lucky for us…" I whispered as Lacrima started to shiver. Rebecca turned around, returning with another needle, but of much larger size. She rolled up Lacrima's sleeve, and then I realized what she was intending to do. I caught her arm in under half a second. "What are you doing?" I said urgently. The ache in my side had turned into a painful throb.

"This is the antidote for this specific poison. If you don't let me give it to her, she will…die…" I stared into her eyes with my stare I save for enemies and targets. "Oh my God, you're—"

"Shut up and give her the antidote!" Lucy screamed in her face, and Rebecca broke out of my grip, and stuck the needle in Lacrima's arm. She pressed something on the edge of the small tube, and it turned from red to green.

"She'll be fine now." Rebecca sighed, and looked away.

"How do you know this?" I asked.

"The green light here?" she pointed with her finger at a small circle. "This takes a sample of her bloodstream and tests it for any other poisons. This was a weak one, so I'm sure I was exaggerating when I said she would die. This one was meant to just knock someone out. So from that, we can assume that the Templars shot her because they wanted to kidnap her. Whoa, are you alright?" Rebecca's eyes widened and looked down at my side. I looked down.

"What?" I touched the part I was aching at gingerly, and my fingertips came back with blood. "Yin el imek ya bint il sharmoota!" (Damn your mother, you daughter of a bitch) The van lurched around a corner.

"Calm down calm down calm DOWN, man!" Rebecca said. "Take off the belt." She ordered. I was in shock.

"What happened?" Lucy asked. Her vision was blocked by the sleeping man whose face was covered by shadow. I'm surprised my little outburst hadn't awakened him.

"Stupid Templars…they're so trigger-happy." Rebecca answered vaguely. I was freaking out, as Rebecca tried to hold my arms down, but she was just thrown off.

"What? What is that? What happened?"

"He's been shot by Templars. Calm down, you should be fine." I couldn't rip my eyes from the blood pouring out of my body.

"_Should be?!_" I asked incredulously.

"Shit, he's going into shock. How much longer to the safehouse, Shaun? _Shaun? _Oi! Shaun!" Rebecca yelled, smacking the back of his chair.

"Er…about another hour, hour and a half. The alarm was just tripped at the one we've been holed up in. Bloody Templars." His voice sounded like he was a descendant of a Templar himself.

"Dude, I'm really sorry about this." Something slipped over my head, and I began to struggle. "Deep breath." I calmed down and did as she said. If I died, I was going to kill them all.

* * *

The van lurched forward, waking me up from my slumber. There were two extra bodies on the floor, one of them male and bleeding profusely, and the other female, but she was probably just knocked out. Well, they both were. I groaned when I sat up straighter, capturing Lucy's attention. "Oh! You're awake." Her bright blue eyes lit up.

"Yeah, how long have I been out?" I asked, rubbing the sore spot on my head where that bastard Templar had clubbed me.

"About two hours. We're almost to the safehouse now." I looked over the two bodies. I couldn't see the man's face, because of the knockout-gasmask that was covering most of his face.

"Who're they?" I asked.

"Uh, I think we need to have a talk. When they're awake, of course. There're a lot of things to cover."

"Are they Templars?"

"Anything but. She's wanted by them, and he's…he's…well, we'll just have to wait and see. Please, don't worry yourself. You took a really hard hit." Her eyes shone with worry.

"Fine. But…why do the Templars want them then?"

"We've heard some radio chatter, and they said something about a portal, and…we think they're right, for once." She sighed.

"What do you mean? You know I can't read your mind." I shook my head.

"Like I said. We'll talk when we get to the safehouse."

"But Lucy—"

"Desmond, be quiet. Let me think." I sat back against the wall of the van, waiting for them to wake up.

* * *

_Yay!!!_

_I'm working hard to get the next two chapters up by the end of winter break!  
_


	17. A Safe Place

_Back!! Happy 2010 everybody!! Double Post today Yayy!!_

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.**

* * *

When I abruptly awoke, we were in a small city on the outskirts of Boston. Judging by the demolished building on Hawthorne Hill: Danvers, Massachusetts. I remember going to the old asylum with my high school buddies a couple of years ago. We had nearly gotten locked in, and with all of the asbestos around us, we kept coughing and gagging. One of us had nearly died, had it not been for the squad car coming by. I shook the memory out of my head as we went deeper into town. The buildings got older and smaller.

"Where are we going? Who are you people?" there were three people I could see from where I was sitting, not counting me and Altaïr.

"We'll explain at the safehouse." The blonde woman said. I looked down at Altaïr. He was knocked out, but his features were tensed. A big bloody bandage was wrapped around his side. WHAAAT??

"Holy SHIT! What happened?" I shrieked, causing the driver to swerve.

"Oi! Keep it down, alrigh'?" he yelled in a British accent, steadying himself. From where I was sitting on the ground, we were hurtling down the street at over sixty miles per hour.

Luckily, there were no cars in the streets, no people, nothing at all. It was completely deserted. It looked like a ghost town.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"Anarchy Month blew this entire town out. You see all the bombed-out ruins on the upper floors? Templars' doing." The woman by Altaïr's side said. She had black headphones resting around her neck. Her black hair was cut shaggily, and her enthusiastic face was twisted into a frown. She was looking at Altaïr.

"What happened to him?" I asked, taking his hand. It was cold and shaking slightly.

"Templar shot him. He was aiming for you, but…he got the worst of it." I nodded. Altaïr was trying to save me.

"They were…? Never mind." I stopped when I saw the look on her face. Now was not the time for stupid questions. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Rebecca Crane. That up there is Shaun Hastings, and you know Lucy. Lucy's our head of operations for us assassins."_Oh great,_ I thought_. More assassins._

"Why is it you always leave me out of the introductions?" a voice from behind me said. I hadn't realized there was even a body there!

"Oh my—" I jumped, whipping around to face…"Altaïr?" his face twisted in confusion.

"Lucy…?" he asked, calling over his shoulder, his eyes not leaving mine.

"This is Desmond Miles. He's…well, he's _technically_ one of us. They were researching on him at Abstergo." Lucy said from shotgun.

"Abstergo? But they're a—"

"We know, but they're more than that. _Much_ more." I was getting tired of all these vague answers.

"So if you're Desmond…are you Altaïr's brother?" he shifted the sleeves over his left arm, a nervous habit that I matched.

"We're…related." The car rolled to a stop, making me bump into Rebecca.

"Sorry." I mumbled. Shaun got out of the van and slid open the door. "Where are we? I know we're in Danvers, but…" we piled out (except for Altaïr, who was still unconscious) and I realized we were in front of a library.

"Okay, let's get what we need. Desmond, I think you can handle getting some supplies. Be a big boy now." Shaun's whiney voice called from the door of the library. I saw Desmond clench his fists.

"Don't let him get to you." I said. "Come on—I know a place." I lead him down the street silently, and then I found the grocery store. It looked ransacked, but that was because the people stole all of the perishable foods first.

We both reeled at the smell of rotting fruit and meat. "Oh God." Desmond said, running to a nearby corner. I could hear him retching.

"Cover your nose. Breathe through your mouth." I said, more to me than to him. I ran in and started grabbing crackers, pasta, flour, eggs, sugar—wait. I wasn't making a cake. I grabbed them anyways. I dropped them in a cart and started pulling random things off the shelf—water bottles, dehydrated milk. I rolled it to the front and grabbed a ton of gum. Desmond finally was inside the store, but he wouldn't go past the coffee shop. "Nothing's gonna get you. Aren't you an assassin?" I taunted. He took a few steps inside before speaking in a nasally voice.

"Not really. My ancestors were assassins. Like Altaïr." I stopped.

"What the hell?" I asked skeptically.

"Lucy can explain it better than I can, but…it's called genetic memory. It's like, crazy-smart science." I nodded once, still not getting it. "Agh, Lucy will explain it. What's your name, by the way?" I looked over at him. Should I say?

"I…my name's Lacrima. Lacrima Bureau." Alarms were clanging in my head.

"Bureau? That's…"

"My name, don't wear it out. Look, I don't even know you, and in the last three days, my life has gone from dull and depressing to dangerous and…well, somewhat worse. Now, shit, can you grab that?" he had followed me into the breakfast aisle. I couldn't reach the Cheerios on the top shelf. He came closer to me, and I felt my heart start to beat fast. I held my breath until he put the yellow box down.

"Are you alright? You _were_ hit with a knockout dart." My hand flew to the place on my neck that had been poked before I had blacked out. It was still a little sore, but I could manage it.

"I'm fine. Go find rice." I ordered. I found the big water jugs at the end of the aisle, and loaded two onto the bottom of the cart. It was getting pretty full, with its sack of flour, three boxes of cereal, five bags of chips, four pounds of brown sugar, five pounds of white sugar, dried fruit, ready-make macaroni-and-cheese, assorted dried cheeses, water, and now bag of rice. I lugged it along the aisle. "Where're the toothbrushes…ah." I pulled down six from the racks on the side. "Wait. Are there more of you?"

"All over the world." _There weren't enough toothbrushes…_ "But it's only the six of us at the safehouse." I sighed, pulling down toothpaste as well as other toiletries.

"Batteries. All sizes. And those disposable flashlights, too." I took down a new first aid kit. Wait. These were _assassins_. Two first aid kits.

"I found the batteries, but there's no flashlights." Desmond called, about three aisles down. I put hair dye and scissors in the basket as well. I would need to change mine and Altaïr's appearances, if we were wanted by the Templars. "There's some…stuff down here I think you should see." I set the boxes of hair dye down in the cart and went over to where Desmond was. There was a large smash of breaking glass, and I ran over. "Careful. I'm just trying to open this door." _There's keys for that…_

"What is it?" I asked. A small nagging feeling of 'why-did-you-leave-your-cart-back-there' came into the back of my mind, but that was just my normal mind getting used to this new world.

"If you're the descendant of an assassin, like me," I bit my lip and rubbed my arm, but Desmond went on. "You have this…I don't know, ability, sixth sense, if you will, that allows you to see things that aren't there."

"And? Is that all you wanted me for?" I asked, but slightly intrigued.

"Well, you see that wall, with the motto on it?" the motto was 'We're certain you'll find what you're looking for'. I nodded. "Well, if I used my ability on it, then I can see this…outline, but I'm not sure what of."

"What does it look like? You should show Lucy." I began to concentrate on the wall. Slight white bursts of light were making their way into my vision, and I could vaguely see what he was talking about, but nothing definite.

"I don't know. It just…glows." He looked at me, his eyes slightly grayer than Altaïr's, but piercing all the same. "Excuse me, but you look really familiar. Have you ever been to a place called Belleville? In Jersey." My heart beat fast. I never wanted to hear the name of my hometown, _the town my parents died _in, again. I shook my head indifferently, hoping to shake him off my trail. "Ah, well." He shrugged it off, and picked up a couple choice bottles of wine and some hard liquor.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I was a bartender for five years. Old habits die hard, I guess." His voice echoed off of the empty walls. I shook myself out of my stupor. "Can you grab that green apple crap by your left arm? Lucy likes sour stuff." he called back.

I took down the green bottle by the door, along with a bottle of Captain Morgan's. I finally made it over to Desmond, who was wheeling the cart out of the store. I set the bottles down with a small _clink_.

"Hey, hey, hey. How old are you?" he held up the bottle of rum.

"Twenty-five. By the looks of it, so are you." He smirked, defeated. "Old habits die hard. How are _you_ a bartender?"

"Touché. I funked my age at that." We walked on in silence. "I hope we got everything. Shaun will have my ass if we forgot anything." He grumbled.

"What's it with you and him, anyway?" I walked along next to him quietly.

"He's just an ass and likes the attention of pretty girls like yourself." I blushed at this comment. "But he's just trying to get Rebecca's attention. You'll see." He walked on ahead with the cart. I could see the group coming out of the library. "Sheeeit. I know what we forgot." He said.

"Didn't bother to get any bags, Desmond?" Shaun's sneering voice made my teeth grate.

"Yeah, I forgot your diapers as well. Hope you're potty trained." Desmond retorted as he slid open the door. Rebecca clapped him on the back and loaded the entire cart in. this could work, right?

"What did you need to get?" Desmond asked as he held onto the handle of the cart. I was grasping for the other side, and was pushing on it with all my strength so it couldn't decapitate Altaïr, who was still unconscious.

"Just some information and a couple of books." Rebecca replied.

I took a worried glance down at Altaïr. "Is he supposed to be out this long?"

"Yeah, he'll come to when we're settled in at the safehouse." She slipped her headphones on and listened to whatever it was connected to. I sighed and kept Altaïr's head in my lap. I hoped he was alright.

We drove on in silence for about twenty minutes until we started hitting rough patches of road. "Shit, where are we? The Appalachians?" I commented, grasping the glass bottles as they jumped around the cart.

"Close enough. Hold on." Between Altaïr's head secured between my knees, a bottle of 2006 Cabernet in my right hand, my rum in my left, and my back against the cart to keep it from killing me, I thought I was going to die. I closed my eyes tight and prayed for it to stop. My stomach lurched. "Holy—!"

Shaun gave a yelp of surprise as the car began to descend. My eyes flew open.

We were slowly sinking into the ground, like an elevator. We waited in silence for about ten seconds before Lucy piped up. "The forest we're in—well, under—is Boxford State. It was supposed to be some missile testing facility, but the government aborted at the last second, so it turned into a State Park, and a wildlife reserve. But, luckily for us, the government built these underground tunnels used for fallout shelters. We're…really not sure how big it is, but in the blueprints I uncovered at the library, it's pretty fucking big." She laughed, and I tittered nervously. Shaun had began to crawl forward slowly in the van, foglights bathing everything in white. Lucy went on. "There's a small sort of…base that we're calling the safehouse. We get updates of where the nearest empty one is, and this one was previously inhabited by some older assassins of higher rank. So it should be in pretty good shape." She was quiet after this.

After five minutes of (grudgingly slow, on Shaun's part) driving, a large open space came into view. It had a staircase leading up to a large watchtower. "Ah. Home sweet home." Shaun said easily, but I could still see his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I motioned for Desmond to look.

"Sorry I didn't get you a diaper in time, Shaun. Looks like you wet your pants." We weren't sure of the truthfulness of the statement, but Shaun turned beet-red and looked like he was going to kill somebody—mainly Desmond.

We unloaded shakily and got the food on the ground. Altaïr was carried by Desmond and Shaun, and up the stairs he went. The other girls and I waited for them to get him into the house before bursting out laughing. "Do you think he actually peed his pants?"

"Most likely. Shaun's all bark and no bite." Lucy answered for me.

"I can't say he's no bite…" Rebecca had removed her headphones, and showed us a purple bruise in the shape of a dental mold beginning to form on her right shoulder.

"So…" Lucy suddenly turned awkward, and I was there to fill the silence, giving Rebecca a hearty "good luck" before turning back to my work.

"Just carry that to the kitchen. It's right there when you walk in." I nodded to Lucy and went up the wooden stairs that were covered in moss. I half-thought that they would collapse and send me to my death, but hey, they could hold three guys!

Desmond came out when I was climbing up. Shocked, he called to Lucy, "_This_ is what you guys call a _cabin_?" his voice echoing around the large room before he went back inside, receiving no response from Lucy.

When I went through the door after him, I was so utterly surprised at what I saw. Instead of the drab, concrete outside, there was a completely modern, glass-and-steel interior.

The kitchen gleamed, and I set the cereal and chips down. Looking around, I almost forgot that we were in the forest. There was a living room on my right, with plush leather furniture, no less, and a hall leading down my left. Since the guys were nowhere in sight, I assumed that's where they were. The couch in the living room looked comfy, but I didn't want to fall asleep right now. I went down and got more food, carrying it upstairs. Rebecca and Lucy were having a conversation about schematics and other computer things like that. They were unloading equipment onto the gray concrete. And by equipment, I meant heavy, fragile, computer stuff. And by unloading, I meant giving it to me. I lugged it up the stairs and set it gently on the couch.

Curiosity wanted me to open the triangle-covered box, but I refrained from doing so. I finally got all the food up into the kitchen, and I collapsed on the couch not covered in stuff.

Barely three seconds after I had shut my eyes, I was being shaken awake by Shaun. "Hey, the couch is fine, but the beds are better." I walked zombie-like down the stairs after him, nearly falling on him twice. "Here's your room. The bathroom's right there, and if you need anything, I'm right down the hall." Whatever, asshole.

The bed fell towards me, and the world peacefully faded to black.

* * *

_Yay an entire chapter of Lacrima POV!_


	18. A Theory

_WARNING: THIS CHAPTER MAY BE A LITTLE FREAKY FOR THAT SELECT GROUP OF YOU READING THIS FROM A MENTAL INSTITUTION. AND THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE A PHOBIA OF QUANTUM PHYSICS._

**Disclaimer: I'm running out of fun disclaimers! PM me ways to make my non-ownership more interesting!**

* * *

"Lacrima…time to get up now," the voice of God called to me. I rolled over in the comfy bed, pulling the pillow over my face.

"Go'way." I grumbled. "I'm sleeping." I said, ignoring the possible consequences of angering God. Just five more minutes…the cake shop can wait…

"You don't have a choice, now GET UP!" I gasped and woke up.

Sweat covered my body like I was running, and it felt like it too. I hit the light on the nightstand next to me, and light flooded into the room.

It was small, with only a dresser, the nightstand, and the bed. The walls were bland gray. A white, angular arch led into a bathroom. No one else was in the room. For good measure, I checked under the bed. Nothing. I hadn't heard the door close, or open, for that matter. I climbed off of the bed and padded over to the bathroom. It had the basics: a toilet, a shower, sink—but no mirror. Another arch parallel to mine led into another bedroom. Maybe this is who woke me up…

A figure was lying down on the bed, asleep, by the way they breathed. I edged closer to them. It was Altaïr. Should I stay or leave? I was about to leave when he spoke.

"Make a choice." He said, his eyes still closed. I sighed and walked back to his body. I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Thank God you're okay. I saw what those bastards did. I'm sorry." I whispered. He sat up, wincing, so he could pull me over by the wrist.

"This is not your fault." He said, pushing his forehead to mine. "If I had the choice to protect you or let you suffer this, I would make my decision in a heartbeat." I sighed.

I gave him a small hug and got up. "I'm gonna change, and go get you something to eat." He nodded and I looked around for my backpack. Someone had left it by the nightstand. I took out the other pair of jeans I had packed and a tank top. I got into the shower, and was amazed by how hot it could get. I had to keep turning the heat down.

When I was finished, I left the room, wondering how long I had slept for. Shaun was in the kitchen with Lucy, and Rebecca was watching television on one of the now-vacant couches. "Good afternoon." Shaun said, looking over Lucy's shoulder.

"I didn't realize I had slept that late." I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Is your friend up yet?" Rebecca asked from the couch as she flipped through channels.

"Yeah, I was just—hold on, go back!" I ran over to the couch. I had just seen a glimpse of Jasika's face. Rebecca had passed the channel again. "No, the news station." I said. Lucy and Shaun came over.

"…_Recent reports coming out of the Protected Police Force say that there are deadly fugitives that have been spotted in the upstate Massachusetts area. This is a detailed sketch of the fugitive."_ A black and white image of me popped up on the screen, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. _"This woman, Lacrima Bureau, was last seen in her home yesterday, where she killed a member of the Detective Squad by stabbing him with a large knife. Her sister, Jasika, had no comment on the subject. More information will be in on the hour."_

"Turn it off, Rebecca." Lucy said softly. Rebecca complied and stared at the ground. "Your name's Lacrima?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah." I said. I felt my hand itching for the comfort of the scar, and I suddenly realized that everyone could see it, and I had no sleeves.

"Shaun, go bring Desmond and…Altaïr up here." He nodded and sped off down the hall, knocking on a door before letting himself in. "We're gonna have a talk. You should sit down." Lucy led me to sit on the couch.

This was crazy. I was wanted by the police, and not only that, they wanted to _kill_ me, I was traveling with a group of three so-called assassins, a real assassin, and a distant descendant of said real assassin. I was surrounded by death. I bit down hard on my lip. This was _insanely_ crazy. And on top of all that, I had a freaking _vision_ in the _grocery store_!

Desmond suddenly plopped himself down on my right side, and I was shaken out of my thoughts. I gave him a halfhearted smile and looked down the hall, at Shaun animatedly arguing with Altaïr. I couldn't hear the words, but eventually Shaun caved and started walking down the hall. He took a seat next to Rebecca. Altaïr limped over, and sat on my opposite side. I was squished between two men of the same bloodline. Lucy took the lone armchair that was left on Desmond's right.

Now that all the pieces were set on the board, we were ready to play.

* * *

_A/N: My beta told me not to, but... DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUUNNNN!!_

* * *

"From what we know, in the beginning, there was a magnificent garden, filled with items of power, and just about everything else one would need to survive. This garden was called Eden. The people that inhabited it were called Adam and Eve. These people were supposedly born from gods. Or God, if you will. They were deceived by the snake, and not only took the Apple of Knowledge, but the Spear of Destiny as well. The garden was believed to have been scattered all over the world, and many of these 'Pieces of Eden' were left in incapable hands, eventually disappearing and reappearing on the map as well. Both the Spear and the Apple were passed down through the generations and stolen in wars and feuds, so we eventually lost track of where they too, came and went. But the Pieces kept appearing in history, all of them shown either on the person or near them. For example, Adolf Hitler had the Spear, and most of the Popes have been shown with them. The Apple made its way across the Atlantic, most likely with an escaping assassin, most likely disguised as puritans, because of their odd clothing. Although the weapons would be a dead giveaway…anyway, the Apple is somewhere in the Western Civilization. There are over twenty main pieces of Eden, and they're very, very powerful.

"One of our problems is that the Templars are in possession of the Spear. The Apple is missing, and we would like it to stay that way, or eventually slip into our hands, even if for a little while.

"Another problem is that the Templars are planning something. They plan on having a war, a war that could possibly end the world. There are theories of a solar flare shooting out into space, possibly engulfing Earth, leaving it geologically unstable. This so-called 'doomsday' is known to most as Armageddon, but every religion, even science, points to the imminence of death.

"It's our job to stop them." Lucy stopped.

"How?" Lacrima asked.

"We've just received word of a vague location of the Apple. It's somewhere in Massachusetts. In our vicinity, to define it a little bit.

"The Apple is an indefinite source of knowledge, but very dangerous. Overuse of the Apple had resulted in insanity, and even death. It's small, another factor to why it's hard to find. It's gold, and sometimes looks like a puzzle ball."

"What do you mean, 'sometimes'?"

"It changes shape, but not size, and it's never really the same. If we were to just start looking for it blindly, we would most likely start in Washington, as they have an abundance of the fruit there. But since we have a location, we can use the process of elimination.

"The powers of the Apple are great in number, but we know some of the main ones. It grants you immense knowledge, even the power to see into the future. It's almost a one-way radio to the gods, from my research on the subject. Our predecessors are certain that it can also cause hallucinations, from many scattered reports. Also, in our recent studies, we've found that it can let you control the minds of anyone you want. That's why we've had such great and powerful leaders in our country.

"But we've found out that there are more Apples. This isn't good. If the Templars get their hands on even one of them, and find out how to connect the two, the world will go to waste and the time stream will inevitably break, forcing the control of the Templars and a full-fledged war on our hands. And we don't know what their arsenal is, besides their guns and various poisons. So, if they have any artifacts, they have the upper hand, along with home court advantage. Assassins are welcome in most countries, if we're given the chance to escape. And the Masyaf fortress, it's been rebuilt to our needs." The tension in the air sparked when a certain assassin let out a low growl. She continued quickly.

"Another cool fact about the Spear, when it's lost, death is imminent to the holder. It's currently held by the Grand Master of the Knights Templar. We're not too sure of his name, but he has a wife, and two children. These children were rumored to have been killed a few months ago, but whether or not their assassinators are on our side, I'm not too sure. But they worked to our advantage, because now we know that they're in hiding, somewhere in Washington D.C. Unluckily for us, the Capitol is basically headquarters for the Templars. It's close to impossible to even get in the city limits undetected, and when we do, there are more cameras on every street than there are at Fashion Week in Milan. There are more Templars than people, and not even half the public know what a Templar _is._

"We're going to recover here for awhile, and hopefully come up with a plan that will end in retrieving the spear and saving the world. If we do, then we leave when we're ready. If not…we'll get to that later."

"Hold on. If you're saying that in order to get the Spear, we have to risk our lives? Isn't that sort of a drawback? I mean, who would do that?" there was silence as most of the group looked around each other.

"An assassin would."

* * *

After that heartening discussion, we had a quick lunch before the assassins (excluding Altaïr) whisked Desmond off to some remote room. "Don't follow us, and we'll explain it all later." Lucy said to us as she left. Was is a threat, or was it a promise?

"Altaïr, we need to talk." I said, once he was back in his room.

"Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere." He smiled.

"What do you think of…them?" I motioned to the door. He was silent for a moment, thinking over his answer.

"They're allies, but…" he trailed off.

"But what?" I asked.

"They don't seem like assassins. They know a lot about the history of assassins, especially Lucy. Their modernized technology and ways of solving problems are strange, I have to admit, and the brief history of the world and these scattered 'Pieces of Eden' seems a little distant, like they think they know what's happening, but they're stuck in their minds most of the time, planning and theorizing possibilities instead of actually taking action. In my time, it was mostly the other way around. We were given a time and place, and we investigated a little, and we killed the person." His ease in these words sent a subconscious shiver through my spine. He continued. "And these…artifacts, did she say? They would have landed the owner in jail, or worse."

"It works the same way in these times. Had you come two years prior, I doubt we'd even be here." I said. His honey-brown eyes clouded in thought.

"Which brings me to another point. How _did_ I even get here? You spoke before of 'time-traveling' and fantasy science. How much do you know?"

"Chaos Theory." I whispered. It was the first thing that had come into my mind.

"What?"

"It's a theory developed about seventy years ago. It says that if more than one strange occurrence interacts with another, then it could possibly knock everything out of line. I think that these 'Pieces of Eden' are strange occurrences in themselves." Oh great, now I was getting into quantum physics… "And Lucy spoke of how it would be really bad if they got their hands on the both of them. The dominoes fall…"

"Is that an expression?" Altaïr asked. I nodded.

"Oh, I think I can give you an example." I looked through the drawers and found several old books in varying sizes. Perfect. I found a Bible as well, but I chose to keep it in the drawer. "Come see."

I arranged the books from smallest to largest, arranging them like dominoes.

"Think of it this way. Every object in the _universe_ affects every other object. They do this by making an equal and opposite force against the other. This is why you can't push a brick wall. That was thought up by a guy named Isaac Newton.

"Newton had the right idea. Every small idea or action would escalate into something bigger, badder." Altaïr nodded his head, but I could see confusion in his eyes. "You're not getting this." He shook his head.

"Sorry, no. I'm an assassin, not a scientist." I smirked at this remark.

"Let's think of in a real-life perspective." I stood up, careful of the books standing on end. "Pick any action. Walking. Breathing. Something that comes easily to you."

"Running." He chose. I felt the ideas in my head whir.

"Okay, running. Let's say, you're running from…guards. You've just killed someone. There, you have the first action. You've killed someone. We can move backwards or forwards from this moment. This is all hypothetical, so don't worry; nothing bad has happened."

"Let's go forward."

"Okay. See this first book?" I put my hand on the smallest book. It was orange, and frayed slightly at the edges. "This is the action of you killing somebody." He nodded.

"This next book is the big bell tower clanging the assassination bell." I moved my finger over the next book. "This is the guards running to the body, and then seeing you." I skipped the next two books. "The actions get bigger, more dangerous than they already are. You start running. You escape. And the books, hypothetically, keep getting bigger and bigger until you die, and sometimes keep going. All of this spawned from a single action of killing a man. You still with me? This next part may be hard to understand." He nodded, a look of complete concentration on his face. "Chaos theory says that if any one of these events are out of the ordinary, say, if you jog or walk instead of running, there's only a chance that you won't get caught, killed, or worse. So the effect," I paused, kicking the books down in a dramatic sweep.

"The dominoes fall." Altaïr finished.

* * *

_That was my little 'Beginner's Guide to Quantum Physics'_

_I'm loving all these awesome reviews!! Keep 'em coming!!  
_


	19. New Knowledge, Old Story

_Hey I'm back! Sorry about the not-so-rapid-fire updating; I've been busy with school and stuff, and my beta (awesome though she is) has school-y stuff as well, so in other words, we've both been pushed back on our deadlines. I hope that these new chapters will fuel your need for this story, and bring along a little enthusiasm as well!! And thanks to my beta for the awesome disclaimer!!  
_

**Disclaimer: The following is the sole property of lolcats-r-hot and her betas (as of now, only The Elven-Spear). If she really did own Desmond, Lucy, Altair, and other characters appearing in this chapter and others, do you really think she'd spend this much time writing fan-fiction when she could make it all canon?**

* * *

"The world is full of false things. False broadcasting. False promises. People haven't read the fine print in years. That's why other countries won't let us in. They read it.

"The Protection Bill says that the 'group' in question gets total power over all aspects of the country. We've always been one of the most powerful countries, ever since the Civil War. We proved to the other countries that we won't take any shit from them, and that kind of power caught the eye of the Templars.

"You all remember the assassination of Abraham Lincoln? Lincoln was an assassin. Why, do you think, he was so tall, and he seemingly came out of nowhere? He was caught off guard, but in the seconds before his death, he was having a quiet conversation with his wife, sitting next to him in the theater.

"Lincoln had said, 'For all we know, there might be someone coming to kill me.'

"To which his wife responds 'An informant said that that's very true. A man named John Wilkes Booth. He's in the theater now.'

"Lincoln says, 'I know.'

"His wife asks, 'At least you've done the most you can for this country.'

"He responds again with the same words. 'I know.'

"Then, both of them fall quiet as the door behind them creaks open slowly. Seemingly invisible, though everyone in the box knows it, Booth comes out and shoots Lincoln in the back of the head. Now, Booth, at the time, was a Templar. He made his getaway, shouting 'Death to all tyrants!' in Latin, and eventually, he was caught, questioned, and shot in the neck by a man named Boston Corbett. The death of one of the most popular men in the country really spurred the war in the Western Civilization.

"This war we're in, it's been going on for centuries. In secret, but the only way you'd know about it is if you were fighting in it. We've been given clues through history, and we know that we can win, if we want to. The assassins have been in hiding for over fifty years, and the Templars are disguised. The means that they use are conventional, covering their tracks with a large company. Abstergo. We've learned that these 'anti-depressants' they make, are actually small, powerful drugs that give the effect of happiness, but they're made from the Spear. The Spear can control peoples' minds just as much as the Apple, and these pills induce mind-controlling substances. It's horrible.

"But, we've come up with a vague plan to get the Spear from the Templars."

"What? Get in, grab it, get out?" Shaun asked sarcastically.

"Something along those lines, but more defined than that. The Smithsonian Museum is the largest museum in the world. Not only on Earth, but under it. It goes down for an indefinite amount of floors. We can get in through the Smithsonian Castle. The Castle was built in 1855, by an assassin named Joseph Henry, and has a secret network of interconnecting tunnels that leads under the National Mall and into the White House. No one knows about these tunnels besides assassins, and we can use them to our advantage."

"Why does it go to the White House?" Desmond asked.

"Because of all the Templar activity, I'm still not sure if the tunnels are even _there_ anymore. I'll contact the current assassin secretary—all the secretaries are assassins—and check. It goes into the White House because of all the assassins in the White House. Presidents, agents, members of the Cabinet. Most are assassins, except now. The Grand Master and his wife are there, and the tunnels, I hear, connect directly to the Oval Office. That's all we have for now. The rest is still being unearthed."

"So…how do we even _get_ into Washington, D.C. without getting captured or seen for that matter?" Shaun asked again, slightly more serious this time.

There was silence.

"I don't know."

* * *

We ate a small dinner and retired for the night. Sleep came easily to me, something I didn't think remotely possible in a time like this.

"Wake up, now…"

"Mom, it's a weekend!" I grumbled under the pillow.

"It's time to get up…we've got a lot to do today…" a freezing cold hand rested on my bare shoulder. I jolted out of sleep with a scream.

My hands scrambled for where the hand was, the chill still placed on my shoulder. I scrambled for the light, breathing heavily. There was no one in the room.

"What happened?" Altaïr suddenly burst in, clutching at his side.

"Nothing. Just a nightmare. I'll—I'm fine." I gave him a smile that I hoped looked convincing. My mind reeled, and I felt lightheaded with fear. "Go back to sleep. I just need to walk around." He gave me a hard stare before retreating into his room. I ran a hand through my hair, looking around for something to occupy my mind. I didn't want to fall asleep again. What time was it?

I walked out of my room, throwing a glance at Altaïr on the bed. He was already asleep. Closing the door behind me, I noticed there was a light on in the kitchen. Somebody was moving around, judging by the way that the sounds were attempting to be muffled. It must be really early.

Desmond was in the kitchen. He was looking for something, by the way he would open a cabinet, close it, and open another, growing more frustrated by the second. "What are you searching for?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

"The alcohol. I just had the weirdest nightmare." I lifted my head in interest.

"What about?" I took a seat at the counter.

"I don't know, it's been going on since we got here. This thing…it keeps telling me to wake up, and it's really freaky. I can't sleep, so I came out here. Why?" I bit my lip. It was now or never.

"I've been having the same problem. But just now, there was this hand…" he looked up at me and nodded. He knew what I was saying. "I need a drink. This is all so crazy for me, I mean, I go from Baker Girl to Wanted Fugitive in the course of a week, and now I'm kidnapped by assassins, and we're going to break into the White House." I gave a high-pitched laugh, almost a shriek. "It's in the cabinet over the stove, by the way." He nodded and took down the Captain Morgan.

"You're a pretty hardcore girl, drinking this stuff." He commented. Since there were no fancy glasses available, we had to make do with what we had—coffee mugs.

"I grew up on stuff like that." I said, taking the cup from his hands. I took a testing sip. It was fine, but not as good as the stuff in the safe back home…

Home. I don't think I'll ever see the cake shop again. So much for carrying a tradition. I felt tears spring up in the corners of my eyes. I sniffed once and Desmond looked up. "Hey, don't cry…" he said, unsure of what to do.

"I mean, my parents died not long ago, but I thought I was okay, and now I'm dragged into all this shit. Why me, you know? Couldn't I have just had a normal life? It'd be better than this, I bet. I mean, I just…" I looked around. "I don't belong here." I felt something about to spill out. "All I did was drag Altaïr into my house, cuz…I don't even know why. I had no idea what the _fuck_ I was doing." I sipped the rum from the coffee mug. "This is insane." I groaned.

"If it makes you feel any better, I can see where you're coming from." I scoffed, setting my head against the cool counter. "I had a bar in rural Jersey. Belleville, you know? I think I already told you that." I clenched my fists under the table. "Then one day, this guy comes in, I'm about to close up, and he asks for a lemonade martini. My first thought is 'this guy's as straight as a rainbow' and I make him the martini. I turn around, and then he's all 'Mr. Miles, you're of great importance to us' and I black out. They kidnapped me. Abstergo."

"Yeah, Lucy told me." I said, my mind clearing for a moment so I could remember.

"They performed all of these fucked-up tests on me, and I found out that I was related to Altaïr, and that they needed my memories for something. I don't know what, and I didn't want to know. At first, I was afraid what would happen if I fought back. In two days of testing, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't. Fight back, I mean."

"Why did they need _your_ memories? You're not from his time, are you?" he didn't seem as uncoordinated as Altaïr, and he said he was a _bartender_. That's about as American as you can get without being redneck.

"It's a complicated story. You should ask Lucy tomorrow. I'm sure her Senior Dissertation is sitting around here somewhere…" as if to prove his point, he looked over his shoulder at the counters. They were empty. His humor brought a smile to my face. "Ah. That's what I want to see…" he said softly, as not to break the mood.

"Life's been really hard. You'd understand. We're basically still _kids_, but we own a business, and we're snagged in the events of _assassins_, for God's sakes." I laughed aloud. I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea that I wasn't going home.

"Yeah. So how'd you get involved with Altaïr? You said you dragged him into your house…?" he asked incredulously. Obviously my small figure was deceiving.

"Well, this was about…two or three days ago. Three days. Yeah. I had a mental breakdown at work, and the shop closed, and I was left to mope around in my house. Then it started to rain really hard, and there was this…this flash of gold. I didn't know what I was doing, but I ran out and found Altaïr and dragged him into my house, into my shower. I just sort of left him there…" I looked over my shoulder, as if expecting to see him right there. Luckily, he wasn't. "And then I cleaned up the place (I had pulled mud in with him) and passed out on my bed. End of story." I said, downing the last bit of rum. Desmond raised the bottle to me, but I shook my head. One drink was enough.

"Have you asked him how he got here? Or about his life at all?"

"Not really. He gets really touchy about that stuff. I sort of had to fill in the blanks, and there're a lot of them. Everything I say about him is mostly assumed knowledge."

"Yeah…he's like that." Desmond muttered. What?

"What?" I asked, aloud, this time.

"You should just go back to sleep." He said, obviously not used to explaining things.

"You're kidding me, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but…" he sighed, running a hand over his matted brown hair, so similar to Altaïr's. _They_ _look_ _so_ _alike_, I thought. _They even have the same scar over their lip._ I wondered if that was a birthmark, and I found myself staring at it with interest. "What?"

"That scar…Altaïr has one exactly like it. How'd you get it?" this idle chatter was filling the danger of silence.

"Bar fight, about a three years ago. Some guy breaks a bottle, I intervene, and shit happens." He touched the scar lightly, the memory of the event clearly playing in his eyes.

"That it does." I said, absently rubbing the scar on my forearm.

"You've got a pretty gnarly scar there, too." He sounded like he was from the West Coast. I turned my arm over, a 'what scar?' face playing across my features.

"I don't want to talk about it. Not now." I looked away; his concerned stare was boring holes into my skull. "So why do you think we're having these dreams?" I asked, happy for the change of subject, but the feeling still lingered in the air around us; above us.

"I don't know. I've never had these dreams before. Not since we were dumped here." He looked around. There were no clocks on the walls; the only light came from the track lighting above our heads. We were alone in the spotlight. "It's freaky. I almost don't want to sleep anymore."

"Next time we're down at the store, I'll grab some caffeine pills." I mused. He laughed.

"Those things royally fuck up your mind. I've learned that alcohol and coffee are better alternatives."

"Alternatives, or addictions. It can go either way…" I said. The mood lightened considerably.

We talked into the non-morning, awakened by the others' presence.

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_Review? More to come, I promise!!_


	20. New Feelings, Old Memories

_Yay double-post!! Maybe if I have enough time, and if my internet likes me, I can post another!!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altair. Even if he's especially angsty in this chapter.**

* * *

It took three days for me to recover fully, and those three days were the slowest of my life. All I could do was sit in my room and think about things. Every morning, Lucy would get us up, and explain the history of the assassins, and Shaun would fine-tune the details. Then they would whisk Desmond away before I could talk to him, and then Lacrima and I were alone for six hours. It was a good distraction to talk to her; it kept me occupied, but I eventually ran out of things to say to her without giving too much away. It seemed that she was trying to get to talk to Desmond as well, sending a bolt of jealousy down my spine every moment that he was brought up.

Her dreams were getting worse by the day. She once asked to sleep with me one night, and she ended up doing the same thing—waking up screaming, thrashing around, and then going out. She wouldn't return for about three hours, and when she did, she was calmer, and acting like it never happened. It was strange. I didn't ask her what she was doing, but I could hear voices in the kitchen—hers and someone else's. Maybe Shaun's. The way the rooms were arranged were strange, and I couldn't pinpoint voices. But they talked animatedly, and I heard the clink of glasses and bottles. I heard my name every once in a while, because of subconscious selective hearing.

I sat up one night, waiting for her to wake up and start screaming, but it never came. I thought it was strange. I walked over to her bed and saw no one in it. I walked out and that's where I saw them. Desmond was passed out on one couch, his head lolled back over the armrest. Lacrima was in the chair next to him, curled up in a ball, fast asleep. So _this_ is who she goes to see every night. Heat flooded my face, and I stalked back to my room, enraged. 'Age before beauty' wasn't the right term, and even if I pulled that card, we looked exactly the same. Why can't we just get out of here? It was my stupid fault we were here anyways. They might even be Templars! If so, then the information that they have is dangerous, and we were all going to die.

For all I cared, let us.

Because I didn't care anymore.

* * *

I woke up when a door slammed at the end of the hall. I hadn't gone to sleep last night; I just stayed up with Desmond. There were no nightmares this time. I was grateful for this. As I sat up and put the cups of coffee that had gone cold during the night away, Desmond sat up as well. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"The door? Yeah, it woke me up." I yawned and got out some food from the cabinet. "I don't know whose door it was, though." He sauntered over to where I was getting down two bowls for cereal. I poured the bits of cereal and marshmallows in, picking out the marshmallows first.

"God, that bugs me so much." Desmond said as I dropped a miniature rainbow in his bowl. "I don't understand why you don't like sweet things. You worked in a goddamn _cake_ shop, for Christ's sakes." He mumbled, popping five or six in his mouth.

"I already told you my reasons." I said. "And I don't need to tell you again." I had pulled the metaphor of Cronus on him, and thankfully, he had gotten it.

"Right, right." We ate in silence, crunching our cereal until we were finished. I found myself eating more than usual, and I felt happier when I was around Desmond. Like I didn't have to worry all the time.

Lucy came in about ten minutes later, her hair all messed up and her eyes pleading for coffee. I happily poured a cup and picked up on the conversation that Desmond and Lucy were having. "You ready to go back in today?" Lucy asked.

"Can't I have a break? You're beginning to sound like Abstergo." Desmond said.

"That's okay, I guess. I think we all need a day of rest after all that traveling. The Animus, too." I furrowed my eyebrows together.

"What's the Animus?"

Lucy looked up. She hadn't seen that I was listening in on them openly. "It's a…machine, that…oh, I have to start from the beginning." She stood up and went over to the whiteboard mounted on the wall. I sat back on the counter. "What is a memory?" she asked me.

"A recollection of a past thought or action." I said, in the textbook-style I remembered from my one course of psychology that Jasika had encouraged me to take.

"And more. I'm talking about genetic memory. How do you think animals were trained so lethally to kill? Or how humans even work? It's basically the hardwired information that every human knows.

"But where does it come from?" she drew a stick figure on the board, writing 'Desmond' underneath it.

"Wow, Des, when was the last time you ate?" I whispered to him. He sniggered under his breath.

"Your ancestors. Desmond's DNA is directly compatible to Altaïr's. So, in theory, we're able to access these 'memories' that Desmond has through a machine that uses electric waves and heat signatures, and we can record the experiences for later use. Abstergo invented this machine, and I was meant to oversee what they were doing. They threatened me into doing their work, and then I broke Desmond out a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, you stuffed me in a trunk." He grumbled. Lucy ignored him.

"Luckily, I've been having contact with Rebecca and Shaun, who're my eyes and ears on the outside. Rebecca built her own version of the Animus, which uses basically the same methods, but it's a lot faster."

"That's where you've been going with Desmond." She nodded.

"So, when Altaïr was, uh, continuing lineage, for lack of a better word, he passed on not only his genetics, but his memories to his children and grandchildren. Most of them, from what I hear, have become assassins, all the way to this day and age." Lucy had drawn another stick figure a considerable distance away from Desmond, and Desmond and I shared a look that said 'that wasn't the only thing passed down'.

"So, these…memories. How are they…taken out, I guess?" I asked.

"When you're in the Animus, you're not only living that person's memories, you're simulating them. You would get a firsthand experience of what's going on in those times, in that person's life. We've found multiple assassins in Desmond's DNA, which works somewhat to our advantages, but these little excursions into other peoples' lives come with a price, as does anything.

"There's this rare occurrence called the Bleeding Effect, in which the Animus user suffers from hallucinations and otherwise channels memories out of the Animus. For example, Desmond has learned from the Bleeding Effect that he knows all the fighting techniques that his ancestors had." The whiteboard was filling up with ideas. "He's learned how to wield a blade without even picking one up. Learned to speak a language of a country he's never been to. His personality's even changed into those of Altaïr and the others. But the Bleeding Effect is dangerous. The person who used the Animus before Desmond eventually went insane and killed himself." With this information flooding through me, I could now see why it was so hard to distinguish the two.

A sudden image of the incident in the supermarket popped into my head. "Is it possible to have this…Bleeding Effect…without even going into the Animus? Like, at all?" Lucy's face scrunched up in thought, her lips sticking out some.

"I'm not sure. I haven't been notified of any events of that type. But now that I think of it, it seems possible…" she began to erase the whiteboard, then stopped. "Why do you ask?"

I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. If they knew, then they would, in all probability, stick me in an Animus as well…"Genuine curiosity."

"Well." She turned back to the whiteboard. "If one were to have a…an Unconscious Bleeding Effect, then it would most likely elicit the same symptoms—hallucinations, unknown skills, and such." She drew out complex diagrams and graphs, while my mind went blank.

"Lucy? I'm gonna go for a walk…" I said, slipping my shoes on in my room. Altaïr's room was dark, and quiet. He probably was still asleep. He deserved it; a gunshot wound is dangerous without the proper recovery.

I slipped out the door and padded down the stairs.

The concrete was cold, and I wondered how long I had been in this place. It sort of bugged me that I hadn't brought a watch. What time was it? Even _Altaïr_ was asleep.

The control tower we were staying in was cast in big stadium lights. I was, yet again, in the center of the spotlight. My mind started to blur, and I knew what was coming.

* * *

_I was back in the Bureau, making the evening meal for the Rafiq and the other assassins in the place. I always felt that I needed to be closer to the assassins, but since the Assassin Grand Master wouldn't let me become one (most likely because I was a woman, but he said he "had his reasons") I had to settle on being a servant in the Jerusalem Bureau. I was happy, but excessively overworked._

_The New Year was about to be rung in. Hopefully 1214 would be better than this last year. People in the streets would either blindingly drunk or passed out in alleys. I had missed my birthday three days ago, and the only ones who remembered it was me, my father, and Malik, the Rafiq. The one-armed man had gotten me a beautiful knife with my name engraved on it. In the handle, there were seams of gold intertwined in the leather, and it dazzled in the sunlight, and was deadly in the moonlight. I practiced some of the stances in which to hold it, like my father had showed me._

_It was the last day of the year. After the meal was done, Malik told me to go out and get some air, to go have fun._

"_Malik," I said. "We both know that I'm physically incapable to have fun."_

"_Go sit on the roof of the Bazaar and face the east. You'll see." I nodded, but inwardly groaned. Climbing?_

_I left through the roof and sauntered along the rooftops, dawdling until I found myself in front of the Bazaar's domed roofs. I looked around every few second, but it seemed that all the guards were away. _This was the perfect time for an assassination_, I thought._

_I used a makeshift climbing structure to make my way up to the roof. I held my breath, waiting for the breeze. A slow chill blew across my back, and I turned._

_I ran straight into a man in white. "Oh!" I gasped._

"_Happy New Year." He said slowly, a smile on his features. He took my hand and pulled me over to him. He sat down on the peak of the roof, his legs stretched out in front of him. "Sit. It's just about to begin."_

"_What is?" I said, sitting next to him, a considerable distance away, but not far enough so that my heart couldn't race._

"_You'll see. I think you'll like them." Curiosity nagged at my mind, and his vague stubbornness wasn't helping whatsoever. We waited in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, listening to the bustling crowds yelling and singing below us. "Come closer." He said, holding his hand out to me. His eyes were friendly, and his features relaxed. I was cautious, but I scooted over to him until I was only three feet away. My heart pounding in my throat wasn't allowing me to talk. He closed the distance between us, pushing his hand under my own, his missing ring finger leaving a patch of my own hand visible. He tugged me closer._

"_I—"_

"_No reason to talk." He said. We both stared at each other for awhile, I looking at his unusual scar—the same one his father had. I wasn't sure of what he was looking at, but I was glad it was my face and not…somewhere else. I broke eye contact as the chatter below grew stronger, louder. I rested my head on his shoulder. It seemed the right thing to do. I sighed._

_Suddenly, color burst into the sky, claiming the black landscape with reds and blues and greens. They illuminated the mountain ranges behind it, and I felt myself gasp at their beauty. So _this_ is what Malik had had in mind?_

"_They're beautiful." I said softly._

"_So are you." The voice over my ear said. I looked up at him. He held my stare, and suddenly his lips were on mine. I kissed him back…

* * *

_

I pulled out of the memory, gasping. I wasn't in the spotlight anymore. I was encased in complete darkness, and I rubbed my eyes vigorously, but my eyes did not adjust. It was too damn dark. I felt panicky. What if no one knew where I was? I had nothing on me that made light in any way.

"Damn it, Lacrima, you're so stupid!" I scolded myself, my harsh words echoing down the halls. If only I was a bat…

I heard footsteps coming down the end of the hall, and it suddenly got very cold. I pressed myself against a wall, my eyes wide and my hands splayed out, trying to find a light switch. There was nothing but bare walls. The footsteps stopped. "Hello?" I called out.

"Lacrima, we need to talk." I sighed. It was only Altaïr. I felt him walk closer to me. A faint blue glow came from his general direction. Is this what Desmond was talking about?

"Okay, go ahead. This is sort of embarrassing…I got lost." I felt my face get hot. He drew nearer to me, and took my hand. I knew it was his left because I couldn't feel a ring finger. He pulled me in what I hoped was the right direction.

"You keep having these nightmares, and they're worrying me. And then you go out to see Desmond, and everything's alright." I was silent. I could see where he was getting at.

"I…Altaïr, it isn't that way. He's—he's having the same dreams, and I find it…I don't know, _easier_ to talk to him, instead of a…a…" I couldn't find the right word for it.

"An assassin?" he asked quietly.

"No! A brick wall! You hide all your emotions. I can't tell if you're even _interested_ in what I say, and when I ask you a question about your life, you choose to hide the answer away like it's some horrible secret! And I'm sick of it." I said. I hoped he wouldn't kill me in these tunnels. No one would ever find me.

"You say it's not like that, but how can I trust you if you won't talk to me?" I froze up at the truth of these words.

* * *

"How can I talk to you if you won't listen?"

Her words rang in my head as I racked my brain for an answer. The hallway sharply turned right, and I had to think of something fast. I had found her stumbling around the tunnels, speaking about fireworks in Arabic. She was acting so strangely.

"I'm listening to you now." I said, pulling her down the corridor.

"Well, I don't have anything to say."

"Good." I let go of her hand and walked ahead of her, silencing my footsteps by walking on my toes.

"Altaïr?" she asked. I didn't answer. I turned a corner and hid from her in the pitch-black. "Altaïr, this isn't funny." She sounded scared, like I had left her all alone.

"Let's see how much of Marid you are. He was blind, you know. He made his way around the entire castle Masyaf without tripping over a single rock, and he knew every person by name, because of their voice. And he always won a swordfight, even against me." I silenced myself as she began to walk forward. I edged backwards, eventually finding the right hallway that led back to the safehouse.

"Fine. But it's cold, and I'm getting hungry. This better not take long." Was she _complaining?_

"Just close your eyes. You don't need to rely on vision. Not in the dark. Concentrate on where I am. Think about where my words are coming from." I heard them echo down the various halls.

"This is ridiculous." I heard her mutter. I smiled, but didn't laugh. She had enough hints as it was. I saw her turning the correct corner with my sixth sense, her pulsating blue light illuminating the walls. She suddenly stopped.

"Whoa. You're _blue_."

* * *

_MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!_

_Review plz?  
_


	21. New Eyes, Old Scars

_I realize I'm awesome. I can post three chapters within ten minutes of one another. Oh yeah. Fuckin rad, bee-otch._

**Disclaimer: No matter how many times you beat the game, there will not be a screen that will pop up and say 'CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'VE JUST WON THE RIGHTS OF ASSASSIN'S CREED AND ITS AFFILIATES!!' but we can all hope...**

* * *

"Am I _supposed_ to be seeing you? Did you turn the lights on, because it's still sorta dark…" I said. His entire figure was radiating every shade of blue from Caribbean seawater to the deepest navy. At the center, where I assumed his heart was located, was a brilliant ball of light. The light was pulsating around him, defining the shape of the hall, and of the doors placed seemingly at random down the hall. The pulsating light was (I assumed) his heartbeat. It was the oddest thing.

"Lacrima…I think you have the sixth sense that Desmond and I have." Was it just me, or did his color darken at the mention of Desmond? He was still angry about that?

"Altaïr, please take me back. Just do it." I blinked my eyes tight, and all was black again. I repeated the motion. I could see Altaïr's blue light fading down the left tunnel. How he had found me this deep in the maze was beside me.

I followed him easily, until the "sixth sense" flickered and blinked out.

A great burst of fire shot behind my eyes, and spread throughout my entire body. It was short, but painful. I resisted the urge to scream or cry out, but a tiny whimper of pain escaped my lips. I could hear Altaïr turn around, and walk back to me. He put an arm on my shoulder and led me through the darkness. His breathing was slow and even. He knew this feeling; I remembered him doubling over in pain back in my apartment. My stomach clenched every time I thought about it.

The pain eventually subsided, and we were still walking. I wondered why there were no light bulbs on the ceiling. Probably, because of the aborted mission, they had to stop construction before anything electric came in. I couldn't imagine working in the dark. I wouldn't be surprised if most of these rooms were bare, either.

I saw a light at the end of one of the hallways, but Altaïr passed it. "Wasn't that—" my sentence was cut off by his lips on mine. I was frozen in shock, but the moment I was about to kiss him back he was gone. I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall. I groaned loudly. Why did he have to keep doing this? It was hot, cold, hot, cold _all the time with him_. I wanted to scream in frustration.

I made my way back up the stairs, realizing that I was viciously hungry. The sting of Altaïr's lips on mine lingered like an insult. Was that what he was trying to do? Insult me? Anger flared up from this possibility.

I heard animated conversation in the kitchen when I walked in. Leaning over to see, I saw Altaïr…flirting (!) with Rebecca. I bit my lip and tensed up when Altaïr looked over at me in the middle of a sentence, his gaze clearly telling me what he intended.

He wanted to play that way?

He was gonna lose.

* * *

I was lightly dozing on the bed when she came in, enraged. "Lacrima? What's wrong? You were gone for a long time…" my idle chatter was cut off by a glare elicited from her.

"Who the _hell_ does he think he is? He goes around, acting all macho-man on everyone here, just silent and brooding, and he's just—oh!" she seethed, sighing exasperatedly. "Then I go off in lalaland, and then he comes down the hall—I thought he was going to _kill _me!" she let out a harsh laugh, which sounded more like an angry cough. "Then he leaves me in the fucking hall, and he's all 'use what your ancestors gave you' like he's some sort of…I don't know, crazy guy! And then he was blue, and then he walked down the hall again, and then it was like _ka-bleh_! And then he pushes me against a wall and kisses me and then—and then—and then…God! _Altaïr is an egotistical FREAK!!"_ she yelled. I covered her mouth with my hand. Her eyes were wild, and she was obviously livid.

"Shut. Up." I said slowly. "Lucy is asleep in the other room. Now, I'm going to take my hand away, do you promise not to start screaming?" she stared straight into my eyes, and nodded. I released my hand, and moved it down to hers. She flinched slightly, but relaxed. "We need to talk. Come on."

I took her down the hall, and into the room with the Animus. "Is that the Animus?" she asked. I nodded and sat her down. I wasn't sure of how to uses it—I was in it most of the time—but I had no intention of using it for her. Besides, I wasn't sure it would even work for her.

"Now. Start from the beginning."

"Well after Lucy—"

"Not that beginning. The very beginning." She bit her lip and rubbed the scar on her arm, two nervous habits she has.

"When I saw Altaïr?" she asked.

"No. You can start with when you got your cake shop."

She was silent for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts. I waited patiently, picking up on the tiny nuances that she had. She would smile slightly at some times, she would frown, bite her lip, and furrow her eyebrows. I knew these characteristics because the tiniest movement, the slightest trace of anger, or any other emotion, would lead to something bigger, or eventually a bar fight. My tongue shot out at the scar, and I remembered what had happened. But my reminiscing was interrupted by Lacrima.

"…okay."

"Go ahead. I'm listening." She took a deep breath, and began.

"I got the shop on my seventeenth birthday. It was the happiest day of my life. Before I converted it into what it was going to be, it was my parents' Italian restaurant, by the same name. I finished high school a few months later and started my business. We tore down the front windows, replacing them with walls so no one could see in. There's this big glass skylight overlooking the store, and it can retract when the days are nicer. There's a bunch of pillows and carpets around, and some low tables so people can eat their cake on. The kitchen is totally modern, and it's all shiny and stuff. It's really easy to concentrate on whatever you're doing, especially if you have the radio on, and people up front are mindlessly chattering. I love that place.

"Before it was an Italian restaurant, it was a bunch of other things, all the way back to when it was a general store in the Civil War times. After then, it was a stop-off point in the Underground Railroad, and a storage space for alcohol in the Prohibition Times. We actually have this humongous hidden vault in the back of the pantry that holds all the old wine and alcohol. That's where I grew up on the rum, remember? There's also a bunch of old family heirlooms that have the shop's logo on it, and that's where I got the idea. I found out later that it was the assassin's symbol, but that's later.

"My first real boyfriend's name was Brad. He helped build the cake shop, and he stormed out after we got in a fight. There's this handprint on one of the walls, where we were putting stucco, where he decided to make his mark.

"The second guy in my life was this guy who worked at a department store, Jake. He was funny, and nice, and he had a _lot_ of clothes. This was six months after Brad. Jasika, my sister, we have one thing in common: we fly through guys.

"Jasika is older than me by a few years, and she's always been better than me at everything—she's prettier, she's funnier, she's smarter. She's a psychologist. She volunteers for the Red Cross—the hospital, not the Templars, as far as I know. But she's way easier to manipulate. I'm not sure if she's on a side, but that can change on a dime.

"So…when Jake left, he left all his clothes in my closet; that's why _he_ is wearing guy's clothes and not mine." She laughed. "Jake left, Matt came in. He left his coffee mugs and about ten pounds worth of coffee in my apartment, then Brian came in. Brian was a videogame tester, so I have all these really weird videogames in my house. They're all gory and stuff, so I don't play them. He left once I found him cheating on me with one of my friends. Then Michael, with his plates. And Charlie, the paramedic. He gave me a _first aid_ kit for Christmas." She trailed off. There was another thing left to say, but she didn't know how to say it.

"I…I don't really know how to explain it, but…that old saying, looks can be deceiving? It works like a bitch. I met Leighton Hayes at the supermarket. He was a checkout guy, living with his parents. He was really sweet, and would go out of his way to check out my stuff. One night, he took me on a date, and we had a bad conversation at the restaurant. We were both really pissed at each other.

"His eyes suddenly turned very dark, and he pushed me. There was a metal post, and I hit my head on it. Blood was…everywhere. I tried to stand up, but he just pushed me down again. There was this…I don't know, sharp point sticking out, and it sliced my forearm open. Luckily there was this couple walking by, and they called 911. I didn't realize he had left me there to die.

"Then I woke up in a hospital three days later. My parents were there, and Jasika too. I realized how important family was then. Even if you hate them, they're the one bridge you can't burn. And if you do, you're screwed." She was silent for a few moments.

"But sometimes those bridges are burned for you.

"My parents died a few months ago, back in March. Their house caught fire, but police reports say it was arson. There's only one gang. There's only one possibility. Jasika hates me for thinking about it all the time, but I can't stop thinking that the Templars are bigger than I know.

"So, flash forward to about a week ago. I have a mental breakdown at work, and I close up early. I'd just been so lonely for so long, and I actually got down on my knees and prayed in front of my window. Then, it started to rain, and then the hurricane. Suddenly, there was this great flash of light. It was gold.

"I run down the stairs, screaming at myself, 'what the hell am I doing' like a madwoman. I sprint through the cake shop, running into the door on my way out." She gave a small chuckle. "I stumbled around across the street. It was pitch black; the streetlights had gone out. Then I literally _fell_ on Altaïr when I found him. I dragged him back in, cleaned up, and fell asleep. When I woke up, he was right in front of my face. I screamed and ran out to the kitchen, holding a fucking _knife_ against him. I managed to slice his arm before I could run back into my room.

"He explained to me where he had come from, and I sort of cleaned him up, and…yeah." Her face flushed a light pink. "So, we were down at the supermarket one day, buying oranges, and then I get this weird…vision thing.

"I was in Jerusalem. I was buying oranges in the bazaar there, and I went into this thing called the Assassins' Bureau. You have to get in through the roof. But then, I saw this…this guy. He looked exactly like Altaïr. But…I got this feeling, that he wasn't Altaïr. He…I think he was his son.

"Then I snap out of it. I haven't told Altaïr about this. Then we were on the run…these guys—I was scared shitless because Leighton was one of them—they broke into my house and…I thought I had killed one of them, but it turned out that I didn't. Altaïr seemed to know him. Big guy, bald head, growls a lot. Then we were on the run, and you guys found us. End of story."

"But what happened, just now?" I asked, snapping out of my mid-distance stare. I had seen that Lacrima wasn't going to look at me—her eyes were closed the entire time—and I had tried to visualize what her life had been like—theater of the mind, you know?

"Well, I drifted off into lalaland just now, and I guess I started walking around the tunnels. Unfortunately, I had gotten lost, and I was all alone in the black. Then Altaïr came down, and pulled me along…" she explained to me her experiences with the Eagle Vision, and what Altaïr had done, first by kissing her, then by flirting with Rebecca. I was outraged; livid. How could he be so heartless?

I knew from my past experiences that Altaïr killed without mercy, and there were only a few times when he didn't. Those people, I could count on one hand. Most of them sat in this room.

But who was I to judge the powers of a man thrust forward in time?

* * *

_I've been listening to Adam Lambert's CD on repeat...LOOOOOVE HIM!!! If you don't, then...well I have not much to say to you about that._

_Review, and I shall work hard to post again by Friday!  
_


	22. The Maze, pt 1

_Hola, mis lectores hermosos (Hello, my beautiful readers)!! I would like to present to you...A FIGHT SCENE!!!!!_

**Disclaimer: Warning--I don't own Altair or any of Ubisoft's characters, even though some of them may fail at epic proportions in this chapter.**

* * *

We walked out of the room a while later, after I had calmed down and spilled my life to Desmond. I hadn't told anybody about the scar. Nobody. But…when I was around Desmond, I felt…safer. It was the same with Altaïr, but Altaïr could get vicious, and scary. It seems like the genetic harshness ran in the family, but had almost died out in this generation. I threw a glance over at the kitchen, expecting the worst. But it was vacant. I felt relieved, but disappointed at the same time. "Do you hear that?" Desmond asked.

"Hear wha—"

"Shh." I concentrated on any noise, with the exception of the refrigerator and the buzzing lights.

There. The sound of metal clashing against metal. I looked up sharply. "Templars?" I asked in a whisper. Desmond shook his head. Then the sound of someone laughing amusedly.

"I think…no, they can't be…" Desmond glanced quickly at the door. "Shaun?" he asked in a louder voice.

"Sleeping." A grumbled voice said from down the hall. He sounded exhausted. What was going on?

"What are you thinking?" I asked. Desmond was slightly hunched over, his back to me, head craned toward the front door.

"Come on." He said, straightening. I heard a low hissing sound in my head. I attempted to shake it out like water after you swam, but it remained, if not growing louder. Desmond opened the door. The sound of clashing swords was now easily identifiable, followed by a hearty laugh occasionally. _Clang, clang, laugh._ I followed him out and down the stairs.

There, standing center-stage, was Altaïr and Rebecca, sparring. Rebecca looked like she had just been swimming in the ocean, there was so much sweat. Altaïr looked like he was barely even trying. They seemed to ignore our entrance, engulfed in battle. Altaïr pulled a tricky feint to the left, catching Rebecca off-guard. He tapped her shoulder with the edge of his long sword, and she laughed.

"Let's take a break." She said. Altaïr's laugh chilled the blood in my veins. If he didn't know we were here, he was either incredibly stupid or incredibly engrossed in Rebecca. Probably both.

"A break? You were the one to suggest this!" his voice echoed throughout the room.

"Besides. Desmond, you wanna give it a whirl?" she threw her own sword to him. He caught it with ease in his left hand. It was a little too short for him, but he seemed to make do.

"Sure. What do I have to lose?"

"An ear, maybe an arm." Altaïr commented, his eyes finding mine for a second, cementing my feet into place and tensing the muscles in my jaw. I thought he'd ask if Desmond had even fought before, but I'm guessing that Rebecca had elaborated on the Animus and the Bleeding Effect.

Altaïr lunged for Desmond. Desmond flinched, but made no move to strike back. Altaïr circled around him. They began to dance in a deadly circle, punctuated by the clang of swords when one got too close to the other.

Desmond swung wide, and Altaïr used the advantage to kick him in the stomach. I took in a sharp breath. Desmond doubled over, and Altaïr paced away from him before turning. "Again," came the response. I wasn't sure who had said it—it might've been both of them—but they both moved fluidly into their positions. Desmond placed the weight on his back foot. He was expecting an attack. Altaïr flew in a flurry of sharp blows, Desmond trying and failing to fend him off. His posture and blocks were amazing, but his muscles weren't ready for the quick reflexes or the strength to hold off the powerful attacks.

I leaned back against the great cement pillar, watching them spar. Rebecca had come back down the stairs with a bottle of water. "Hey." She said, and leaned next to me. I resisted every urge I had not to challenge her to a fight. _And possibly sever her head…_

"Again." The word came again. Desmond had fallen to the ground again, half of his face red from slapping against the cold floor. I wanted to cry foul, but a voice in my head said _let them be boys_. Speaking of things in my head, I could barely think straight with all the buzzing around my brain. It didn't feel like a migraine, but it was certainly annoying.

"Again." Desmond had tripped over his own feet, and was on his back. Altaïr had held the tip of the sword to his throat for a second before pacing away.

"Again." _Clang. Clang. Thump._ "Again." _Clang. Thump._ "Again."

My mind was blurring. Really? Two flashbacks in one day? My vision seemed to fade, and then sharpen like a microscope. An idea popped into my head. "How hard is it to fight him?" I asked in a whisper to Rebecca, all feelings aside.

"Ridiculously. He's not afraid to beat a girl. Have you ever even touched a sword?" she could see where I was going.

"Once." I started to walk forward. The light stung my eyes.

"Ag—" I realized that it was Altaïr saying it, and he stopped midsentence. Desmond stood up, staring at me with an odd look.

"No. My turn." Desmond's eyes widened, pleading. All the abuse he's been taking has been doing nothing but building up fear.

"Very well. I'll go easy." Altaïr said smugly as I was handed the sword. The hilt was heavy, but rested easily in my palms. The leather handle was sweaty, and I had to wipe my hands on my shirt a couple of times. I raised the sword like a bat, ready to swing. I could very clearly hear Rebecca groan from the sidelines.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds. "Well, come on, then." I snarled.

"Ladies first." He bowed his head, raising his eyebrow in mock interest.

"Exactly." I growled. I heard Desmond and Rebecca chorus "Ooh…" like the crowd before a fight.

Altaïr's stance changed and I matched it, my mind flooding with possible counterattacks and evasive maneuvers. Wait, _what_?

My thoughts were cut off by a flash of silver flying for my neck. _He's not afraid to beat a girl._ Rebecca's words echoed in my head as my hand shot up to block him. He pushed on me with all his weight, and I gritted my teeth in concentration. _Jesus, I didn't know he was _that_ heavy!_

I bent my knees and sprung up, pushing him off me. In his daze of my sudden power, I had taken the chance to let a few moves fly. Right, left, head. All blocked by his bracer or sword. The heat of the lamps was beginning to raise my temperature.

A shot of cold ran down my spine and everything stopped—the buzzing, Rebecca and Desmond's words of encouragement, Rebecca and Desmond themselves. The world outside the spotlight fell away. The only sounds were me and Altaïr, battling. His footing was predictable and sure, while mine matched his. I swiped at his ear, and he only just dodged it. I could hear him breathing heavily, and the sound of my own quick breaths.

Altaïr thrust forward with his sword, aiming for my kidneys. My eyes widened and I sidestepped him as he moved in slow motion. I disarmed him quickly and kicked him down on his back. I held my footing, sure that he wouldn't try to pull what he did to Desmond. I lightly rested the cold tip of the sword on his Adam's apple, my eyes glaring down at him, though my face didn't show it.

Our eyes met, and we were both frozen into place. His body was covered in sweat, and his chest heaved with every breath. I had to be careful if I didn't want to kill him.

I realized what I had done. I had beaten him.

I stepped off of him and walked away, the world floating back into perspective. Altaïr remained on the ground. I rested the sword on one of the steps and began to climb. I wasn't tired at all. I wasn't…anything. I felt numb.

"Lacrima…" my name was called. It was Altaïr. I stopped, my hand on the doorknob, but I didn't turn. "…again?"

I went inside.

* * *

"Where on _earth_ did _that_ come from?" Desmond asked, stepping into my line of sight. I was still staring at the space she was standing not seconds ago.

That fight was crazy. I had let her have the upper hand in the beginning, but I had begun to struggle, and something swam in those eyes, from the moment our swords first touched. Something…feral, something dangerous. My mind reeled with how she had moved so fast, and how she had disarmed me, and kicked me down. When I was down, I was searching through my mind for something that I could have done to beat her, but nothing had come up. With all my training, there was nothing. And she had only ever picked up a short sword. I thought that just _holding_ the long sword would be an effort, but no. She held it in her hands, in the perfect example of what we're all taught. "Let not your sword be something you hold, but an extension of your arm." We were all taught this. This proved even further that she was the ancestor of Marid.

"I have no idea…" Rebecca replied. I stood up. "Geez, man, I was sure you were gonna beat her."

"Truth be told, so did I." I said. Desmond looked at me with indifference, offering no taunts or compliments. He gave me a small nod and walked up the stairs. I faced Rebecca. "Maybe tomorrow?" I said, not waiting for an answer before I followed Desmond.

I went inside and immediately made my way over to my room. I looked in through the archway. She was sitting on the bed with her back to me, her hands in her lap. "Lacrima, I—"

"Don't talk. I won't say anything about it, if I bruised your ego." She said quietly. I felt a cold rush flow through my chest and I sat next to her. Unsure of what to do, I wrapped my arm around her waist, her warm body sending heat into me. All too soon she pulled away. Standing up, she headed for the door. A draft hit the spot where she had been and I shivered. She left. "I don't understand you, Altaïr." I heard her voice outside the door. I put my head in my hands and stretched out against the bed, exhausted.

All throughout dinner that night, I stared at Lacrima. She was completely engrossed in her food, and didn't look up, even when Rebecca started going off about how she beat Altaïr. I shot her a glance and she shut up. We wouldn't want the wrath of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad on our hands. I winced as I grabbed another roll of bread from the basket. Those bruises that Altaïr had left me were doing their work. Lacrima had made the rolls for dinner, and we were ravenous for fresh food.

I could see her numb stare from under her curtain of black hair. I was sitting on her left, and Altaïr was across from her. Rebecca was across from me, and Shaun was at my left. Lucy was at the opposite end of the table. We were silent during the meal, enjoying the food immensely.

After dinner, we listened to Lucy's plans to get into the Smithsonian.

* * *

"Since Abstergo knows basically all of our faces, I decided to do a bit of exploration in that department." She pulled out a dusty black box, similar in size to the one Rebecca and Shaun use to gather their equipment. "In some of the rooms in the tunnels, there's an armory, a full kitchen, and basically…a disguise department. There's color contacts, makeup, fake noses, wigs—you name it. Unfortunately, due to the lack of lighting, I tried to carry all this stuff up by myself, which explains why I've been sleeping all day.

"In addition to disguising your face, there's a full wardrobe and a washer-dryer set—thank God—so we can clean up a bit before we go back up. There are security cameras all over the place, and they're on their own separate generators. We can use these to watch out for Templars if they catch our trail.

"A few old blueprints showed me that there're a lot of old tunnels opposite to where we came in. This means that we have more than one escape route."

"So we're gonna waltz in, like we're a bunch of tourists?" Shaun asked.

"There're fake IDs in the rooms as well. We just need to create an alibi and we're good. And if we needed to change the car, you should see how many they've got. It looks like a dealership."

"Gas?"

"Good."

"When do we leave?"

"Wait, wait, wait. So we're going to _drive_ over _four hundred miles_ in a _day_? That's like, seven hours! Not to mention traffic. Why don't we tackle it by every major city?" Lacrima asked.

"Because…well, that's a good point. But every major police station is looking for us." Lucy tried to argue.

"Well, then, why don't we stick to small towns and maybe…less popular backroads, instead of highways? How about this—we stay here for a couple more days and plan out where the hell we _go_, then we go? Besides, I doubt this place has a US Bank around here." Lacrima sat back in the sofa.

"You have no idea…" Lucy muttered. Excitement bubbled in the air. "So. Does…three days sound good enough for you all?" the group nodded and adjourned.

Little did anyone know…

* * *

_MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAH THE EVER-HATED CLIFFHANGER!!_

_Review and I might just post another by tomorrow! I'm going to dinner with my dad tonight (bleh) so I'm making an Altair-worthy bowl of mac-and-cheese. It smells sooooo gooood...  
_


	23. Last Supper

_Okay so I'm so happy because of all the reviews, and you know who you are who say the coolest things...the voices told me to say that. Anyway ON WITH THE STORY!!_

**Disclaimer: The following chapter/chapters, non-inclusive of any recognized characters in any video game, is/are the sole property of the person known as**

**lolcats-r-hot,**

**and her beta The Elven-Spear.**

**If the recognizable characters WERE the property of the above to screen-names, the actual video games would have been full of high explosives, shotguns, and zombies.**

* * *

"I have the map printed out!!" Lucy called from her office. Since I was elected in charge of checking last-minute things, Lucy handed it over. I went over the directions, circling the big cities with a red pen, and marking alternate routes. She sighed and went back. I reclined on the sofa, then stared longingly at the kitchen.

I had the impulse to make a cake.

I checked the pantry. We didn't have much, but it was enough. We were all packed, and ready to go. We had taken showers and made our alibis. We had planned our disguise and readied a car—an ice silver Audi with really good mileage. Shaun was driving—no surprise there, and Lucy was navigating. Good thing there were seven seats, otherwise I'd die if I had to sit next to Altaïr for not only seven hours, I learned, but over twelve hours. I had a feeling that something between us was going to happen on the trip, but whether good or bad, I didn't know.

I measured out the flour, sugar, and other ingredients, and started to make the cake. I hummed idly with my movements, to a song I wasn't too sure the name of. I knew some of the words, but I haven't listened to it in close to a decade. The comforting blur of cake-making was interrupted by two arms curling around my waist, and lips on my neck. I froze, and nearly dropped what I was holding, which was an egg. I set it down on the countertop and spun around in the man's arms.

Altaïr. Always Altaïr. Wordlessly, I shoved him off of me, and tried to get back to what I was doing. His lips were at my ear now. "I'm sorry." He whispered. His hands lingered on my hips.

"That's no way to apologize, Altaïr. Especially not now. I'm busy." I brushed him off, but he persisted, trailing kisses down my neck. I bit my lip to keep from shuddering. "Altaïr, get…off!" I shoved him back, so that he collided with the island in the center of the cramped kitchen. I stared him down, and finally turned back to my cake.

He didn't wrap his arms around me this time, but his presence hovered over me like a cloud. I expect that in his little game, if I were to turn around, he would win.

"What are you doing, Lacrima?" he whispered into my hair. I sighed and searched to remember how to talk and think.

"I'm…I'm baking a cake." I poured batter into a circular pan I found in a cabinet under the island.

"Why?" he asked softly, in a concerned tone I was sure was just put-on.

"Why? Because…because I want to. Is it so hard to believe that a baker wants to bake a cake?" I preset the heat for the oven. The oven, because it was so modern, was immediately preheated in the ten long seconds that followed. I stuck the batter in and set a time, doing calculations in my head.

"You look so…lonely, and…distracted." His voice came from the right side of my face, but I kept my eyes hooded, and started to clean up the nonexistent mess. Should I make frosting?

"D-distracted?" I stuttered. He murmured in my ear that I was correct. I couldn't help it; a shiver went down my spine.

"I'd like to…distract…you." He said awkwardly, like he had no idea what he was doing.

I pulled a face he couldn't see and I turned around.

I wasn't greeted with furious kissing, or a flurry of hands. I was faced with a six-foot-tall, deadly-as-hell, _bashful_ assassin. His face was tinged with a cute pink blush, and he was biting his lip. His eyes pleaded for me to say something. "I…" he began.

"Shh. Don't speak." I said, silencing him with a finger to his lips.

Was this real? I had to be dreaming. I saw my hands place themselves on the sides of his face, my fingers barely tracing the edge of his jaw. His eyes were staring at me…but I couldn't place the emotion. It was longing, but softer. Admiration, but…no just pure admiration there.

…love?

My face broke out into a grin, and I pressed my lips to his gently. Warmth spread through me, and I felt so utterly _whole_ that I felt tears spill on my face. I looked up and saw that it wasn't me who was crying; it was Altaïr.

I pulled away from the kiss and hugged him tightly. He buried his face in my hair, and kept his arms securely around me. "I'll distract you, too." I said, earning me a light laugh.

The cake's timer beeped and I reluctantly let Altaïr go. I nearly burned my hand off when Altaïr's arms were around my waist again, but I didn't react this time. I let him hold me. It felt…good. I plopped the cake out of the pan and realized I hadn't made any frosting. Oh, well. I hate frosting anyway. But my mind was already running through the old recipe I had found in The Bureau's vault. I sighed and reached for the eggs and sugar.

Whisking them together, I leaned back against Altaïr comfortably. The steady beating of his heart threatened to lull me to sleep, but I stayed concentrated on what I was making. When it was done, I covered the cake lightly and evenly with the white mixture.

"I swear to God, Lacrima, if you correct this one, I'll kill you." Lucy came in and slammed the papers on the counter, and grumpily sitting on the stool. She stared at Altaïr holding me for a few seconds before realizing that _Altaïr was holding me._ "Oh! Um, uh, sorry, I…" I lightly pushed Altaïr's arms from around my waist and walked over to the papers.

Okay, no big cities, not many major highways, reasonable rest stops in the country, and—"Altaïr, get your hands off that cake." I said, my cake-senses setting off an alarm in my head. I heard him chuckle as I looked over the rest of the paper. "It's all good. It's fine, but," I saw Lucy's directions darken and become dangerous. "When do we leave?" she let out a relieved sigh and took the papers back.

"Let's see…it's ten-thirty now, and we should probably pack before we sleep, so we can leave at…let's call it eight." I smiled and told her to tell the others.

She left and went into someone's room. A few seconds later, "She baked a _what_?!" and I smiled inwardly.

"You know…I heard this old saying, well, old for me, new for you, and it goes like this," I leaned back against the counter, and locked eyes with Altaïr. "A good relationship is like baking a cake. If you don't take your time, it'll come out horrible. Imagine sex is the icing. Sure, the icing is good, but it won't fix the rest of the cake." Altaïr laughed once he got it.

"That…is a wonderful metaphor." He said, wrapping his arms around me, and placing a kiss on my forehead. I sighed into him and stood there, content.

A couple of comfortable minutes passed in silence before I realized something. "We've gotta get packing." He let me go and we went to go pack.

* * *

My disguise was a college student from California, a place I've never been. I was a film student, on a trip to make a film about life in Washington. I had to cut off some of my hair and bleach it a little so I could add blue streaks that were close to my eye color, but I could deal with it. After this was all over, I could grow it out again. I wore punk-style clothes, and always carried around a video camera, which doubled as a communications device. We all had our own. Altaïr, who was posing as Desmond's twin brother (I laughed) had a Bluetooth, while Desmond had a handheld gaming system. Lucy stuck with one of those molar caps that could send electromagnetic waves to your brain, and translate them as words. Shaun had tinkered with his glasses so that he had a communicator next to his ear and jaw. Rebecca decided to go with the old-fashioned cell phone, but it was encrypted so much, that it took her a while to open up the menu.

My name was Tracy Houston, but my com-name was Blue. Desmond was Red, Rebecca was Purple, Shaun was Green, Lucy was Yellow, and Altaïr was Gold. We decided to go by colors because there was some big Black-and-White festival in DC that week. Apparently the Grand Master and his wife were supposed to show up, so it'd give us an opening to get into the White House, grab the Spear, and escape. If there was the off chance that the Grand Master had the Spear on his person, we would take it by force, first by causing a distraction, then killing the Grand Master in the confusion, and taking the Spear. We do all of this without getting caught, and we're all good.

If not…we run for our lives and meet up at the nearest church. Sanctuary, right? I didn't say it, but I had a feeling that that wouldn't stop the Templars one bit. But there was always Lucy and her tunnels…

We ate all of the cake within ten minutes, chatting and laughing about it. "It's just so random, you know?" Rebecca asked at one point.

"Yeah, but old habits die hard." I said, directing it slightly towards Desmond. His face was one of indifference, but I shrugged that off because of the wad of cake stuck in his mouth. I could faintly see him choke on the cake, a sign that acknowledged my comment.

We slept lightly that night, resting up before the long ride ahead of us.

* * *

"Get up…you've got to start moving," the voice was back. I froze, my toes curling at its hoarse, scratchy whisper. "You've got to get up…"

"No." I whispered. "I don't want to."

"We have ways of making you…" it drawled. The room's temperature dropped significantly. I was awake, but I was afraid to get up now.

"I can stay if I want." I retorted. The room kept getting colder and colder. I could feel something hovering over me. I didn't dare move.

"No…you have to go now. Come find us…" the hand pressed on the back of my neck and I gasped.

Pictures of blood, of bodies, flooded my vision. The white rectangle of light from the supermarket. The scene fast-forwarded. I was walking out of the store, and sprinting down the street, turning two corners and coming up to an old gray house, the kind with the slanted attic at the top. I broke down the door and ran up the stairs. My heart was pounding in my chest. I flew up another flight of stairs and came to a halt. I looked up at the ceiling, and was greeted with a black space. "Come find us…" the voice whispered in my ear.

I screamed when the hand let go. I screamed loud and long, a blood-curdling cry that scared even me. The images of blood and gore rained down in my head, and I felt tears fall down my cheeks.

Suddenly there were warm arms around me, pulling me close. I buried my face in the warm chest, trying to shake off the feeling of cold and dread. I silenced my screams and heard another person screaming. Desmond.

I pushed myself out of the person's arms and dashed across the room, fumbling for the doorknob. It finally turned and I ran straight ahead into his room. He was sitting up, a look of pure terror across his face. He had stopped screaming, but was jackknifed straight. Lucy was standing in a corner, unsure of what to do.

"We're leaving. Now." I said in the sternest voice possible.

She nodded her head and went to go get Shaun and Rebecca.

Desmond nodded to me, his muscles shaking violently. "Go take a shower. We'll leave in a sec." I said, then going to do the same.

Altaïr sat on the toilet seat while I took my shower. "What the hell was that?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Desmond and I have been having these dreams. These things that keep telling us to wake up. It's like a demonic alarm clock." I chuckled nervously while rinsing out my hair.

"When did these start?" he asked.

"The night we got here. That's why I was up to talk to Desmond for so long. He was having them too. Hopefully they'll stop after we leave." I mused. I turned the water off and peeked around the shower curtain. He was gone. I sighed. Probably off to interrogate Desmond now.

I dried myself off and dressed in what Rebecca called our 'spy garb'. After doing my hair and snatching my sunglasses off the table, I went into the kitchen, where Shaun and Rebecca were hauling big black cases down the stairs. "What's that?" I asked.

Shaun gave me a concerned look before answering. "Pieces of the Animus. We're locking various pieces in certain rooms, in case another assassin comes here and gets curious, or…basic precaution." He shrugged and went out the door.

Rebecca elaborated for me. "We have a digital copy of the safehouse's blueprints, so we know where we're going. In case Templars come down here, we're setting some of the rooms us with explosives as well." She gave me a wide grin when my eyes widened. She left. Lucy came into the room with a to-go cup of coffee. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hands were shaking.

"Nervous?" I asked, voicing my own emotion. I'm sure Lucy didn't hear about the explosives, so I decided to refrain from that subject. She nodded.

"I was so scared, this morning. It sounded like someone was going to kill him." Her voice cracked on 'kill'.

"It felt like someone was going to kill me." She nodded again, sipping her coffee. "What time is it?" I asked.

"Seven. We're still loading up and locking down. We put tripwire all around the entrances and exits, and they'll activate when we leave." So she _did_ know about the explosives. I left her in the kitchen and snatched up my backpack and camera. I was given a short sword and a couple throwing knives, along with a retractable long sword in the backpack, similar to Lucy's. I had tested it out with Desmond—he had gotten one too—and had kicked ass. It was lighter than Rebecca's sword, but I worked better with it, I found out.

"Ready to go? We're all ahead of schedule. That's good." Lucy and I were chatting about our routes we'd take, Shaun and Rebecca were back, and Altaïr had just walked in with Desmond. Desmond looked as calm as I felt (not that much) but looked stable enough to go. Lucy stood up. "Okay. Let's go kill a Templar. We're stopping in Danvers first, so we can pick up some food for the ride." I shot Desmond a look, and he mirrored it. We were going to the supermarket. Shaun mumbled something about crumbs and an Audi, but Lucy went on. "Come on, I'm locking up." We went down the stairs and piled into the car. We each had our own backpacks full of deadly weapons and distractions, and since the car had three rows, we were ready to go. I was sitting next to Desmond, and Altaïr and Rebecca were in the back seat.

The stadium lights switched off, and we were engulfed in darkness. The low purr of the engine and our breathing were the only sounds. I felt like I was in a horror movie. Shaun turned on the headlights, and we began to crawl forward into a tunnel. "Shaun, do you mind if we turn the lights on back here? It's sorta creepy…" Rebecca said from behind me.

"Go ahead. It's not like there's traffic." She flipped on the lights behind us, and Desmond did the same. "We're passing one of the rooms with a piece of the Animus." Shaun said, reminding me of a tour guide. "And on your right, one of the rooms with an explosive." We all visibly held our breath as he crawled forward.

"Shaun, don't tell us these things." I said, a little shaken. Now every room was a ticking bomb. He was silent the rest of the way there. We finally made it to the elevator.

"Sunglasses on." We all put them on as a precaution. We haven't seen the sun in over two weeks. Our eyes might burn, or react badly.

We made our way to the surface, and were met with the canopy of trees. Shaun rolled down the windows, letting fresh air in. We all breathed in deeply. The air was so much different from the safehouse. It had a distinct flavor, which rolled in the car around us. It was slightly cold, as we had driven north, and we were on the East Coast, but we all welcomed it gratefully. No more artificial light. No more heaters. No more ghosts…I hoped.

Twenty minutes passed silently when we arrived in Danvers. Desmond and I tensed at the same time when we stopped in front of the supermarket. The rest of the group got out, and we stayed put. "Aren't you coming?" Lucy asked. We shook our heads no. "Okay, then." She went inside.

"Should we?" I asked.

"No." Desmond stated, staring straight ahead…at the corner.

"Are we?"

"Yes."

* * *

_LOL I just realized that I had written another entirely-Lacrima-POV chapter. Well, I hope you liked it!!_

_Reviews make faster posts!  
_


	24. The Tomb

_So what if I left you on a cliff, hanging for your lives? MacGruber will save you. Not really, it always turns into something racist and distracted. Well, on with Chapter...uhh, I can't really keep track XD_

**Disclaimer: My beta has run out of witty disclaimers so I'm going to make this IKEA-impossible (le gasp!) and try and confuse you in a short little side story before the real story that you're all trying to get to but maybe I'll become distracted and start typing random words...banana...grapes...oh great now I'm hungry. But still, after Little Timmy was saved from the dark depths of the well, no one cared to notice that Altair had fallen in as well. Oh, well. Since I don't own him, I don't have to save him. -Ubisoft growls-**

* * *

So what if we decided to go on our own excursion? It's not like they wouldn't know where we were. With the combination of Altaïr's sixth sense and Lucy's ability to calculate things, they'd know we wouldn't have gotten far by the time they realized we were gone. We took the directions from the voices, and we found ourselves in front of the house.

It was so much worse than we would have imagined. "After you." He said, giving the decrepit stairs a wary glance. I glared at him and hopped the short distance up to the porch. He was behind me the entire time, even going as far to mimic my movements. I took in a deep breath and kicked the door. I stumbled back. My foot had left a mark in the door, but the lock was still in place.

"You try." I said. Desmond kicked it through, where it hung on its hinges. He went in and cleared two rooms.

"All clear in here, and the kitchen."

I checked the bathroom and downstairs bedroom. It looked like an elderly couple or person had lived here, judging by the eighties-style wallpaper and the black and white pictures of family. There was no one in either of the rooms. "I think Anarchy Month wiped out whoever was in here. But they usually leave the bodies…" I trailed off, not wanting to get a mental image. I walked back to the hallway, where Desmond was waiting. "Up the stairs?" he nodded and I took them two at a time.

"There's two flights, remember?" I nodded and began to check the other rooms. There were two more bedrooms, which I took, a bathroom, and a study. "Clear." Came Desmond's answer.

"Same here. Let's go up." I said, but made no move to go up the flight of stairs on my right.

"Well. I guess we can't turn back, now, can we?" Desmond gave me a halfhearted smile that I returned by climbing up the steps. My face turned solemn when I saw the entrance to the attic.

"You go first." I said shakily. He nodded and punched through the opening, then jumping up into the attic.

"Oh my God…you've gotta get up here." His voice said. I could hear him walking around above me. Suddenly his hand shot down and I jumped back a little bit. "Grab my hand. I'll pull you up." Gingerly, I took his hand. "Count of three, jump. One, two, three!" I pushed off with my legs and I was heaved into the attic space above me.

I coughed a little bit at the dust I had kicked up, but my eyes were wide open.

It looked like an old Egyptian tomb, fit for a king. There were paintings all over the slanted walls, chests of what I expected to be gold and jewels, and a large coffin at the end of the room. It was made of stone, and gave me the chills. Desmond walked over and put his hands on the sides, like he was going to open it.

"What are you _doing_?" I yelled, prying his hands off of the sarcophagus.

"I've been to places like this in the Animus. They're called assassin's tombs, and they…I don't know what they're for, but I'm guessing that the people that used to live in the house below us were assassins. Because only assassins can guard an assassin's tomb."

"I got that. But why do you need to open the creepy stone coffin? For all we know, this could very much be a vampire's tomb!" his face turned towards mine.

"Trust me." I stepped back.

"Your funeral." I said, ready for a man with a widow's peak and sharp fangs to pop out and eat Desmond. For good measure, I took a spear hanging off the wall and stood in a defensive position.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard the grating sound of stone on stone. "Ha. Thought so." I opened my eyes a tiny bit and saw Desmond holding up a stone disc, about the size of his hand spread wide.

"What is _that_?" I asked. The disc had a weird symbol on it—it looked like a circle with a Tetris-like design on it.

"I used them once to unlock this—"

"You mean you've tomb-raided _others_?" I asked, getting a little dizzy. I looked down at the opening.

"Not _me_, but one of my ancestors." I put the spear back on the wall.

"Close the thing, please. It smells." Desmond complied and turned around to face me.

"Why do you think the voices told us to come here?" I bit my lip and rubbed my arm thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Maybe—"

"Oh my God, I think I know why." Desmond was standing over a chest of some sort, and had opened it without me knowing. I went up behind him and looked around his shoulder.

There, inside it, was the Apple. Not just _one_ Apple. Six.

"Did you hear that?"

* * *

We were finally done picking up supplies and loading them back into the car when we realized that Lacrima and Desmond were gone. "Where are they?" Shaun asked.

"Go check all the aisles. Shaun, you go down that way, I'll go this way." I said. Rebecca and Lucy bolted off in different directions down the street. I used my sixth sense to try and find them. I was in the section with a lot of glass bottles when I saw something weird.

A rectangle of white light. With two blue figures standing over it. I switched out of the vision, biting my tongue at the pain, and was disappointed to see that it was a wall. "Shaun. Follow me." I said, walking out of the store. I felt him run up behind me, and I turned left. I made it to the corner where Lucy was standing.

"Did you find them?" she asked.

"I think so. Call Rebecca, and bring the…car around." Lucy darted off in her direction, and I turned the corner. I started to run, and Shaun followed. There was a van in front of one of the houses. I switched into my second vision again, and saw faint outlines of people in the top of the house. I took the stairs onto the porch, my foot falling through one of them, and burst through the door. They were two floors above me. I ran up the stairs.

"Lacrima? Desmond!" I called.

"We're up here!" Lacrima called. A clang of metal told me what I already knew.

I jumped up through the hole in the ceiling and was nearly pushed back down by Templars. I growled in rage and pushed myself up. I released the hidden blade from my hand and stabbed one outright. The familiar rush of the kill was brought back to me, and I was flooded with energy. As I was beginning to fend off another, I felt a sword slice my back. Thank God the Lucy remembered to give us armor. I whipped around, after kicking the man I was fighting down.

The man I had just stabbed was standing like he had never been down. I big red gash where my hidden blade had been stood out on his white shirt, but it wasn't bleeding like I'd thought it would. It didn't seem to be bleeding at all. I blinked quickly, but reacted when he brought his blade up to meet my neck. "Altaïr!" Lacrima shouted, and I caught the spear she had thrown before I was decapitated.

"What are you?" I asked through gritted teeth. He kept putting pressure on my body, and my knees were threatening to buckle.

"Better than you." He snarled. I felt my knees get kicked out from under me, and I cried out in pain as a dagger sliced part of my hip.

"The head! Aim for the head!" Desmond said. I spun in place, stabbing the hidden blade into the man behind me's skull and whipping around to face the other man. He had turned his attention to Lacrima, whose back was open. I cut in and stabbed him in the neck with the spear, then gauging his eye with the hidden blade, blood spilling everywhere. I helped Lacrima and Desmond fight off their Templars and we eventually were alone.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around the room. There were ancient relics such as paintings and weapons hanging all over the wall. All of them were glowing gold, especially one chest in the corner. I looked at it quizzically before Desmond answered my question.

"We're in an assassin's tomb. Usually, after an important assassin dies, they get their own tomb somewhere around the world. I've…found a couple in Italy." I tried to take in the information, but my train of thought kept slipping back to the chest.

"Have you opened the—"

"Look out!" I whipped the spear around, but found it was only Shaun.

"Sorry, thought you were one of them. We need to go. We have the car outside. Lucy and Rebecca are waiting." We nodded, and were about to go out the trapdoor when Lacrima fell onto me. Her body slid to the floor. I checked her pulse: she was still breathing, although unconscious.

The 'fallen' Templars rose, one by one. We formed an inner circle, the unconscious body of Lacrima at the center. They cracked their knuckles menacingly, and three more came out of the trapdoor. I counted heads: three to seven. No, eight.

We were hopelessly outnumbered, with Lacrima unconscious—now Lacrima _and_ Desmond unconscious—and Shaun dangerously close to passing out. Seven Templars? It'd be easier to just give up. With a yell, I stabbed the nearest Templar and we were thrust into action. Shaun was separated from me and was backed into a corner, grunting and shouting when a blade would come dangerously close to his face.

They were moving faster than I could track, and I found myself yet again, on my knees. I kept desperately trying to push myself up, but I was shoved down and held in place by a blade at my throat. I swallowed slowly and felt blood spill out of a head wound that I didn't realize I had gotten. I couldn't see Shaun, but judging by the groaning in the corner, he was hurt badly.

What were they waiting for? They kept me kneeling for quite a while. At least a couple of minutes. Why didn't they execute me where I was?

I found the reason why when Lucy and an unconscious Rebecca were tossed in. Rebecca had a bleeding wound on her side—probably the reason why she was unconscious. Lucy had some cuts and scrapes on her face and arms, and a bleeding lip. She had put up a good fight. I tried to smile at her, but it came out looking worse than I had intended.

I knew that if I tried to move, they would kill me.

If I talked, they would kill me.

If I breathed wrong, they would kill me.

My life was entirely in their control. I saw a pair of hands reach up through the trapdoor, followed by a head of black hair. A woman stretched her way in. She looked exactly like Maria de Sable. Sure enough, where there's smoke, there's fire, and Robert came through the opening as well. I glared at him the worst I could manage while I was at my knees, and he laughed. He pulled the woman close to him. "You see this? He's still trying to fight. Makes you think, if looks could kill, right?"

She smiled slightly, and looked at Lacrima. I wriggled around; trying to protect her, but my neck was dangerously close to being severed so I stopped. My hands were bound behind my back, and I could use my hidden blade. The woman looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Let's not get feisty." She said softly, following with a laugh. "Take my sister and her…friends and put them in the van. Leave the wounded one and the freak here. They'll die eventually. Besides, they're no use to Vidic at all." I knew that voice.

I realized, as I was stood up, that we had been utterly betrayed.

* * *

_Mwa hahaha haaaaa!!! Well, hooray for double-posts!!_


	25. Captured

_Back! I'm doing this reallyreallyreally fast because my internet is gonna clock out in a few minutes. Oh noeeeess!!_

**Disclaimer: Don't own, now READ DAMMIT!**

* * *

Waking up is not meant to be abrupt.

The perfect day, in my opinion, is to wake up to the sounds of birds chirping at your window, and you gradually gain energy and restlessness, forgetting about life's troubles as you slip on your sheepskin slippers. You would go out to the window, and observe nature and the other early risers. Warm arms would slip around your waist, and you would kiss your lover until breakfast was brought up to your room by an aging butler.

No.

Waking up in reality was much harder. I was thrown onto the floor of the big black van, gaining consciousness only a split second before impact. I could barely see Altaïr and Lucy sitting in upright positions on the benches that lines the walls, their hands tied behind their backs. Both their faces looked like they had been run over, and were set into scowls at one another. They _couldn't_ be mad at each other. Not now. I couldn't see Rebecca or Shaun; they must've been further down.

A heavy body was tossed onto me, knocking the breath out of me. I coughed and gasped for air, unable to move him because my hands were also tied behind my back. I realized it was Desmond a moment before the door slammed shut, encasing us all in darkness. We were all silent.

Desmond started to move off of me and I managed to slip next to Altaïr, or where I thought Altaïr was. He maneuvered his hands over to mine, and I grasped his fingers with mine. "Is everyone alright?" I asked. My voice vibrated off the metal walls. The van lurched forward, sliding me down the bench.

"I'm okay. Wow, rough landing, huh?" Desmond said. He was sitting across from me.

"Fine." Lucy said.

Altaïr gave a grunt for an answer, and I half-wondered if they had gagged him.

When I was greeted with more silence, I became worried. "Where're the others?"

"The Templars left them there to die. They were both bleeding really badly. Then that horrible woman came in—"

"What woman? I passed out before anything happened." Desmond interjected.

"It was Lacrima's sister." Lucy said.

Her words bounced around in my head like a ricocheted bullet. What? I must've heard wrong. "How do you know?" I protested.

"We saw her face on the television, remember?" with a sharp realization, I remembered the event.

"No. That can't be right. Not Jasika. She wouldn't _do_ that." I tried to get them to see reason.

"It was her. I remember her voice." Altaïr's answer grumbled from my left. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth." I felt so utterly betrayed. I shook with rage. She was my _sister_. I wanted to know the reason _why_ she would do something like that. And quickly. Altaïr slipped his bound hands under his feet, and made to put his arms around me.

"Don't touch me." I snapped. My lip trembled and my blood was icy and fiery at the same time. I was going to kill whoever touched me, arms or not. Altaïr backed off as I slid down the bench.

"How did Abstergo find us?" Lucy mused. I couldn't care less; I just wanted to wring Jasika's neck like it was a towel. Maybe even _with_ a towel.

"I'm sure they just got lucky." Desmond said. I could feel his eyes in my direction.

"Well, they _do_ always seem to find us when we least want them to…" Lucy said.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sixth sense. With a _whoosh_ of power, I opened my eyes again. Altaïr, still brilliantly blue, sat facing me, with his back against the front wall of the van. We hit a road bump and he quickly corrected himself. Lucy, also blue, but fainter, had moved to the floor, and was trying to get her hands out of the bonds. Desmond just sat there, just as brightly blue as Altaïr. He was looking straight at me, and I looked away. I wondered if he was using his sixth sense as well. I stood up, looking straight at the front wall. There were two bright red figures sitting up front, one driving. I turned around, looking at the doors that held us in. A certain part of the door glowed white, and I put my hands on it. It was a lock. Easy to break, but we were moving _and_ tied up. I switched out of the vision, my head throbbing violently. "Can anyone break a lock?" I asked.

"They took my hidden blade when they were tying us up." Altaïr grumbled.

"Nothing here." Desmond said.

"I've got a knife…" Lucy said. I made an unseen face of bewilderment. Where did _that_ come from?

"Uh, okay." I said. I found Lucy sitting down.

"Can you cut the tape?" we had each been tied differently—Lucy with duct tape, me with plain rope (obviously we were underestimated). I cut Lucy loose and she did the same for me. "Desmond, what did they tie you with?"

"Rope." Since we hadn't put up as much a fight as Lucy and Altaïr, we were _very_ low security.

"Altaïr?" Lucy was cutting Desmond loose.

"I'm not sure." I could hear her go over to inspect him.

"Duct tape." She muttered. I was unexpectedly pulled into a hug, in which I froze up in reaction. Desmond.

"It'll all be okay." He mumbled. He let me go after I relaxed. The sound of duct tape coming off of skin ("Ow! What torture is this?" Altaïr said) reverberated through the van.

"We all free now?" Lucy said. I almost muttered about the irony. I heard the knife slip back into a sheath and only wondered where it was.

We mumbled our thanks and stretched out our arms, smacking a few people in the face in the process. "Shit!" Desmond said as I grazed his ear. I merely smirked.

"Okay, I expect that, since we're in a Templar vehicle, we're going down the highway. It should take us two days, maybe one if they don't stop, to get to New York, where their headquarters is."

"So _that's_ where we were." Desmond whispered.

"Anyway," she continued. "We should plan our escape at either the first or second pit stop. These vans can't go without a fill-up for about six hours, so we'll have plenty of time to plan. If we're unsuccessful the first attempt, we need to lie low, and try and escape when they're unloading us. Agreed?"

"Agreed." We chorused.

After about fifteen minutes, Desmond asked, "Now what? Do we just wait until they pull into a 7-11 and then we scatter?"

"Find the nearest church, a Catholic one, preferably, and call sanctuary again, and blend in with the crowd. It's Sunday, after all." I smirked, remembering a day when we had gone to church as kids and we had thought the fountain was for drinking. I had thrown up in the car on the way home, after I had been explained what it was. I scowled when I remembered Jasika's smug face; she had known all along, and was just egging me on.

"So, we spring, through a group of heavily-armed Templar Knights, weaponless except for a single knife, and we head for a church. What if the town is anti-religious?" Desmond asked slowly, emphasizing each point.

"We can't rely on 'what-if' now. They'll create doubt," _if we haven't already._ "And we won't perform our jobs as well. I didn't ask myself 'what if I get killed' every time I do something, and that's why I'm alive."

We sat there, her words sinking into our brains. I decided to rest and sleep, my head falling on Altaïr's lap…

"Lacrima. We're stopping." Altaïr said in a whisper. I sat up straight, holding my arms behind my back.

"The signal is 'what wonderful weather'. Remember that. But if you see a clear chance, _run_." I nodded, but to blind eyes, or just those of us not using their sixth senses. I took deep breaths in, pumping my blood in case I had to run.

"Alright. We're stopping for five minutes. You'll each use the bathroom once, and then go back in the van. Don't try anything, or we will hurt you." The muffled voice of a Templar said from outside the door. Altaïr had tied my ropes back on into a slipknot, in case we ran. I heard him smooth his duct tape down. Play the part, I always said.

The door opened, bright light spilling in. I kept my ears strained for Lucy's voice, but I could barely hear over the rush of cars. My heart dropped. We were on the freeway. There would be no churches. I looked over at Lucy. Her face matched my own.

We were steered silently over to the bathrooms, where we did our business and were shoved back into the van. "Okay, I trust everyone realized why we didn't run that time." Lucy said. Our silence conveyed a 'yes'.

The van rolled on, and I came to a sudden realization a couple hours later. "Lucy?" I sat up straighter, pushing myself off of Altaïr's shoulder.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice dripping with exhaustion. She hadn't slept. Hopefully Desmond will try to explain to her that she needs to.

"We've been here for hours, and we're moving in circles."

"What?" she asked. We sat there, surveying our gravity for a couple of minutes. "They're tiring us out. We've been in New York for hours, I bet." She sighed. "We've lost. We can't escape now."

"Don't you _dare_ talk like that!" I yelled, standing up. "We've been here just as long as you, and you're the only one whining about it! If we lose hope, we've lost everything. All we have is a fucking _knife_ and our spirits! If we lose our outlook, we're gone. Because only one person can have the knife, and that's you. You've lead us this far. We've done perfectly this far. Lucy, get a backbone." I sat down. We were silent.

The van, as if monitoring my speech, slowed and stopped. I glared into the darkness. I felt it back up, and something secured itself around the door. An airlock, perhaps? A low hissing sound started up, and I felt dizzy.

"We can make it through this. Just don't give up." I said as we slowly fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Back at Abstergo. The absolute _last_ place I wanted to be at the moment. Right underneath 'Hell'. I woke up in the same room I had occupied before. I knew this because when I had slipped into Eagle Vision to find a way out, Subject 16's bloody writing was on the wall, right where it had been before. I sighed. Where were Altaïr and Lacrima? Where was Lucy?

I groaned and sat up, only to be restricted by a pair of handcuffs holding me to the end of the nightstand. I could probably pull out the drawer, but I decided to look around. I sighed loudly and closed my eyes. I had no idea what their intentions were, but I knew the outlook was pretty fucked up right now. _We can make it through this. Just don't give up._ Lacrima's words echoed in my head like a shout in a parking structure. They kept going, and going, and going.

Something made a tiny sound in the bathroom. "Hello?" I called, hoping it wasn't a Templar, or worse.

"Desmond!" Altaïr's voice came through the door. "Where are you?"

"I'm cuffed to the bed in here. What about you, are you alright?" it felt great to hear not only my own breathing.

"I'm…chained to the shower. I don't know how to turn it on, but if it did, I would drown. But I'm fine…where are we?"

"Abstergo. This is where they kept me when they were experimenting on me in their Animus." I could hear him struggling with the handcuffs. "They won't break unless you have the key." His continued struggling told me that had never stopped him. I looked at my own cuffs closer: they had an electronic key, and if you did any serious damage to it, it would fry and never come off. "Stop! If you break it, you'll never get out! I'm warning you, stop!" he stopped, and his body fell against the tiles in defeat.

A couple of minutes passed silently. "Why are the walls covered in blood?" he asked, horrified.

"That was the guy before me. He stabbed himself and wrote all over the place in his blood before he died. All these words and riddles. He had gone insane from being in the Animus too long." I could hear him nod.

"What do they want us for? And why keep us in the same room?" he asked.

"Maybe…they need something from us. That's why they took me in the first place. They need my memories, and they can interrogate you. As for room placement…I'm not so sure. There're cameras all over the place, and microphones as well." I realized I was talking to a man from the Twelfth Century. "Cameras watch what you're doing and microphones record any sound you make."

"Then why are we talking?" I pondered on this for a moment before answering.

"To keep from going insane. We'll just have to watch what we say. And whatever you do, don't give _anything_ away. At all. Not a single word. They'll ride you for information until you die. They almost killed me when they had gotten all those memories from me. Your memories."

"What do you mean?" I inwardly groaned. If I didn't tell him what the Animus did before they used it on him, then he would be a walking head case.

"The Animus uses your ancestor's memories through your mind so they can see what you did in a past life. In a past life, I was you, so they channeled your memories through me." I felt confused just talking about it.

"But…what about now? This didn't show up in your memories, did it?" I thought back to the Animus sessions of Altaïr…I couldn't seem to recall anything.

"No. now that I think about it, I can't seem to remember anything past going to Jerusalem for a mission."

"That's when I…" he trailed off after I hissed at him to be careful. "You get it."

"Yeah." A couple minutes passed, both of us buried in our own thoughts. "So now what? Do we just wait?"

"You're seriously asking _me_?" he laughed.

"Sorry. I've been so used to modern-day minds." I said sarcastically.

I eventually fell asleep, but awoke to Lucy chained at my side, eyes wide open. When she saw I was awake, she embraced me in a half-hug, her arm handcuffed to the other nightstand. "They've got her. They're going to kill her." She whispered frantically in my ear.

"What? Who?" I asked.

"Lacrima."

* * *

_REVIEW NOOOOW!!_


	26. Severed Connections

_Hey Happy Superbowl Sunday!! My beta and I are rooting for the commercials!! (But I'm secretly a Saints fan XD)_

**Disclaimer: Yes, Ubisoft is paying us to do this.**

**...**

**...PSYCH!**

* * *

My head felt horrible. The walls around me, the sky, the ocean, the stone streets—they kept flashing and flickering out of control. I felt dizzy. I tried to grasp a short mortar brick wall, but my hands just fell through it. I steadied myself. People's silhouettes swarmed around me. They were all missing their faces. The world was spinning, spinning, spinning. And falling, falling, falling. The ground was real, at least. White flashes of light burst around me, and I was constantly blinded by them. I asked the people around me to help, but they didn't seem to react.

A large group of womanly-shaped people came up to me, tugging on my long dress and—wait. _Long dress_? I looked down at myself. I had the same height and weight and body type. But something was different. I felt stronger, faster. I tested my theory by running away from the group of "women". They tried to follow me, but could not keep up. I ran down a flight of stone stairs and tried to distinguish features that could tell me where I was. There was a fountain, and a well, and it was blisteringly hot. I tried to seek shade, but I couldn't seem to reach it, like in a dream.

"Where am I?" I tried to shout. My words came out mumbled, but slightly coherent. No one turned around to look at me. I yelled louder. "Help me!" I begged.

No one turned, but the women were back now, wordlessly pleading for something. Their muffled pleas didn't reach my ears. A loud whirring sound echoed throughout the entire world. There were voices…voices…I attempted to concentrate on them.

"…rejecting…get…_out_. Sh…_die_…you…in…long…" a voice said from above me. It was a woman's voice. I knew it. It was so familiar…I looked up at the flickering blue sky, hoping for an answer.

"No…need…do this _right now_…keep…in." There was a sound of sighs, and suddenly the woman's voice was right next to my ear.

"Lacrima, hang in there. My name is Audrey Jacobs." I whirled around, searching for the voice. "I work here, but I don't think this is humane. You need to trust me. Just lay low and try and calm down for awhile. You need to stay in the Animus for just a bit longer. Please just hold on." The voice disappeared and I was alone.

The world sharpened into perspective.

Apparently, people _had_ been looking at me. I felt my face heat up with so many eyes on me. I dashed out of the courtyard, and found a place to hide. I had climbed up to the top of a building and had jumped in the nearest roof garden. I breathed hard. I was scared. Audrey's words still rang in my head. I was in an _Animus_?

"This is crazy. I'm hearing things. I'm crazy." I whispered.

"I don't think you're crazy." A voice from my left said. I jumped. There was a guard. I felt my toes curl. "I think you're kinda pretty. Why is a good girl like you sitting up here without a man?" I bit my lip. Could I run? I toyed with the stupid dress, not giving an answer. The guard crawled in, and I tried as hard as I could not to slink away. His breath reeked, along with the rest of him. His teeth were brown and mostly missing, and his mouth was curled into a sneer that was a far cry from attractive. "Now, with eyes like those, you're asking to be looked at. Don't be so scared." He inched forward, until I had barely any room to move. I had been moving back towards the other wall slowly. "And with lips like those, you're asking to be kissed…" he taunted, his face closing in on mine. My heart was racing, and I was on the verge of tears.

His sword glinted in the space of light provided when the wind had kicked up the curtain.

I squeezed my eyes shut as his face came inches away from mine. A sickening crunch of bone cracking and blood spattering on the floor made my eyes fly open. His face was twisted in pain and surprise. I shuddered as his eyes, the color of shit, dulled over and gazed away. I watched his body fall to the floor with a blunt _thump_. The wood floor was quickly beginning to stain with blood.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" a deep voice asked from above me. My head swiveled up in surprise.

Above me stood a man dressed in white robes. They were long, almost to the floor, and hung in large strips. He wore all sorts of deadly weaponry, and I was immediately intimidated. A large, wide belt covered his middle, a silver teardrop holding it in place. A hood covered most of his face, except his mouth. I watched him breathe for a second before I decided that he was real and he had just saved me from a horrible fate. I shook my head, blushing under his intense, albeit unseen, stare.

"Come. It's not safe for you to be alone at night." He held out his hand, and I gently took it, my long, flowing sleeves falling back to reveal pure, pale skin. I gaped at where there was no scar. I felt like I was seeing myself for the first time. Well, in a way, I was. The man noticed my hesitation. "Are you alright?" he asked, dragging out his _r_.

"I'm fine." I said, my voice cracking. I accidentally threw a look over my shoulder at the dead body. I shuddered in fear of the man, and let go of his hand. My blood started to race. I recognized what the teardrop meant. Assassin.

"You have no reason to fear me, _ma dame_." His thick accent told me where I was. I was in France.

"But you are an assassin, no?" I said, cautiously backing away from him. I didn't know where the edge of the roof was. As I took a step back, he took a step forward.

"…yes, but you shouldn't think I would kill you for knowing that."

"Then what should I think?" another step. I noted my own French accent. Pretty cool.

"You should think twice before taking another step." He warned, and took a large step forward. In spite of his warnings, I took a step, and my foot landed on…air. I gasped as I was pitched backward, my arms wind-milling around my head. My throat choked on the scream I'd had in place. I felt my body flip once and fall into…a haystack?

I grabbed fistfuls of hay around me. I was completely covered in hay. Before I could react to what had happened, I took off down the street, my body leaving a trail of yellow behind me. I started to turn corners, and I was soon more lost than I was before. I slouched down against a wall, spent.

Something jumped down in front of me as my eyes shut in exhaustion…

* * *

I lay on the metallic bed, not breathing, staring at the white, metal-beamed ceiling. My mind whirled and fuzzed up, screaming at the top of my lungs and not making a sound. I was flying through the air. My back hurt. It felt hot. Something slid over my face—a glass curve, edged with black metal. It slinked into a slot near my ear, the low whirring sound strange to my ears. The ceiling above me shifted slightly, and snapped back in place a few times.

I was suddenly thrust back into reality. I jolted upright; gasping for the air I had deprived myself of, and holding my chest like I was choking. I took deep breaths in, trying to remember how to breathe. I looked around me. There were no people in the large room. There was no voices, no Audrey. I looked down at myself.

My other hand had been chained to the Animus. I was a prisoner? My thoughts cleared and I remembered what had happened. We were captured, then we were brought here. Where were the others?

* * *

"I had programmed a lockdown code into the Animus you were using, in case they brought you back and something like this had happened. It's really, really heavy-duty, and the only reason they're keeping me alive is so I can undo it. It's going to take me a few days, if I go slow. After that…oh, Desmond, I don't know what to do!" she cried as she pulled me closer. "And I can't even look at Lacrima in the Animus. They're _torturing_ her in there. If they keep up the ten-hour sessions, she's going to be a repeat of 16!" she said frantically. I wondered if she realized that Altaïr was in the other room. Having no choice but to hold her, I did.

"Remember what she said. It's going to be fine. We've all just gotta hold on." I said, my left arm pulled back painfully.

"I'm not too sure. I mean, Alan Rikkin's assistant is in charge of Lacrima. I tried to talk to her, but she keeps leaving before I can do anything. And they left her in there for ten hours, and the machine keeps glitching, and I'm not sure how long she can last. I mean, she didn't grow up like you…" she was referring to my childhood, being raised by people who thought I'd do something great and powerful, like saving the world. I thought about my dad…

* * *

"Hello?" I called out. I tried to look around, but my vision would shake and I would become nauseous. "Is anyone in here?" my words echoed around the room, but were not answered.

"Lacrima!" I heard my name distantly, as if muffled by several mattresses.

"Hello?" I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on the voice.

"Lacrima!!" there was more than one voice this time.

"Where are you?" I called.

"In the room by the Animus!" they shouted again. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but I'm handcuffed to the Animus." I said. "Who are you?"

"It's us! We're all trapped in here, and we're handcuffed as well!" it was Desmond. Another voice cut in.

"How long do you think you've been in the machine?" it was Lucy this time.

"I don't know. I mean, I was in _France_, and I had no idea what was going on! I mean, this is so crazy." I said the last part in a quieter voice.

"We're trying to figure out how to get you out. For now, just hold on, and we'll find a way to get you—" she was cut off by a _whoosh_ing sound and four peoples' footsteps. I tried to roll my head backwards so I could see, but my neck strained and I sighed as they walked up to me, gathering around me on all sides.

"That's enough chatter, Miss Bureau. We're putting you in better quarters now. Audrey." A pompous British voice, shriller even more than Shaun's, said at my right. I kept my eyes closed, playing it off like I was trying to process his words. Was this the guy that was experimenting on Desmond?

Suddenly my hand was grasped, hard. A Templar was squeezing my bones together in my left hand, the one that was chained to the Animus. I gritted my teeth, trying to block it out. Lighter hands suddenly replaced the rough, calloused hands after a few seconds. Audrey. The handcuff was released off of me, and I counted to three.

One…

The British man started to talk again. "We're putting her in cell number 18. This is also her Subject number as well."

Two…

"I want to try out the Animus 3 on her."

Three.

Using my feet, I propelled my way into the Templar in front of me, landing my head deep into his gut. He gasped for air and fell down when I flipped myself backwards and righted myself. We all stood there, staring at one another, for a few seconds. My brain was pumping with adrenaline, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I turned on my heel and darted to where I hoped was the door. I waved my hands around, activating the motion sensors. I shot through the opening like a bullet, and turned a sudden left.

"Get her!!" the British man yelled from behind me. As I ran, I whimpered in fear of what they'd do to me.

A couple more turns, and I was lost.

One turn after, and I had hit a dead end. Something hissed, like in the van, and I collapsed to the ground, the darkness closing in on me quickly.

* * *

_Sorry about the shortness, but I'm posting more today!!_


	27. What Do You Fight For?

_Back!! Read on, oh graceful readers! Thanks to my beta for the disclaimer (again)!_

**Disclaimer: Stop. Think about this for a second. You are reading this on FANfiction dot net. Note the word FAN. Now, do fans own the things they write/have dreams about? NO! Stupid-Head!!!**

* * *

If I were to write a letter to my father, it would sound something like this:

Hey, Dad.

You might not really remember me, or who I am, but its Des. It's been nine years, but I'd like to think that you think of me from time to time. How's Mom? I hope she's alright. I bet you've seen my face around, and heard my name on the radio. Letting you know, I'm fine, but a bunch of stuff is going on. It's complicated, and I'm pretty sure that you wouldn't want to hear it. I mean, why else would you live all the way down in the desert? I've been thinking about coming home someday, to be honest. Life is just so hectic, and…I'd much rather be with you than to be on the run from crazy Templars.

But not all of it is bad. I've met some really good people, who I trust and sometimes call friend. That's what you wanted me to do, right, Dad? Make friends? Like Henry, the other boy in our block? Well, anyway, I've met this brilliant girl named Lucy. I think I love her, but…I don't know how to. I wouldn't know how, even if I tried. She's beautiful, and really smart, and very independent. Like Mom, just a little bit. That's how you were with her, right?

I'm stuck between death and eternal torture right now. I'm trapped by the "bad men" you always talk about. Do you remember, when I was nine, and I had my first real 'test'? The men charged into my room, but I didn't know that they were just Mr. Rawlins and Mr. Herb. I swear, I was never cut out for that type of stuff. But now, I think that remembering things like that make me want to run faster, fight harder, for the things I stand up for. What did you ever stand up for? I just sat there and let them take me away. There was always a part of me that needed to get out. I just let them drag me down the street, some people standing in their doorways, staring out at me with sad eyes. Eyes that knew I wasn't one of them. I had kept my head down. After Kurtz had told me it was a drill, I had felt so ashamed. Then, when I was fifteen, and I had to do that to another poor, helpless kid. But I had thought he was going to be like me. I was wrong. He had kicked me in the face a couple of times—broke my damn nose—and had broken three of Henry's ribs. After he had run off to his house again, I just lay there, looking at the stars, laughing at how messed up life was. And I was trapped. Forever.

But I have to say, history repeated itself.

I fought as hard as I could, Dad. But, like I've learned so many times before, you have to lose some times. And I lost. They got me. Now, I'm a prisoner of the war I hadn't believed in until a few weeks ago. The war you were talking about. The war I was _destined_ to win.

Honestly, I still believe that destiny is a load of bull, but look where it got me. Stuck in a cell, alone, fighting for my life.

I fight for Lucy. I fight for my friends. What did you ever fight for?

Your son,

Desmond

* * *

I woke up in a square cell, surrounded by glass walls, where other cells identical to mine, though empty, created a maze. The top of the cell was open, but the walls were too high to climb. Utter dread settled in my stomach. I felt like I would be sick. Where was Desmond? Lucy? Altaïr? I started to hyperventilate, and I braced my hands against the glass wall, my hands sticking to it unpleasantly.

_If anyone can help me, it's that Audrey girl. She seemed nice when I was in the Animus_.

The Animus. I had heard them say "Animus 3", didn't I? Shaun and Rebecca had made an Animus 2…did that mean they had the pieces? If so, we were all doomed.

There wasn't much in the room: in fact, there wasn't anything at all, except for a table that was bolted to the ground. It was low, so I couldn't use it to project myself over the wall. Was I supposed to _sleep _on it? The room chilled. I suddenly got an idea.

"Hello?" I shouted, projecting my voice upward so I could get an echo. I held my breath, waiting for an answer.

None came.

I sunk to the floor, collapsing into tears.

* * *

They had taken me from the room by force, but I had to be helped up—a mortifying thing—because of the non-usage of my legs. I had managed to break one Templar's nose, and knock another out before I was, myself, knocked down. In front of Desmond and Lucy, as well. Desmond was clutching Lucy like a child's doll, trying to fend the Templars off. Unfortunately, none of us could do much, as our hands were still chained behind our backs. In a spilt-second attempt, I had jumped over my hands and released the arm-wrenching bond so that my hands were 'free', in a sense.

I started to run (after Lucy had yelled at me to do so) and was stopped by more guards. I kicked into fight mode, though I had no armor, no weapons, and I was severely off-balance from not moving around. There were about six of them, I couldn't count because one or two kept moving around. My eyes darted around, challenging any of them to take a step forward.

The back of my neck pricked and I fell to my knees, gasping in surprise.

* * *

After Altaïr had been taken away, all was quiet for about twenty minutes, which were spent taking in the scene that had just happened. Altaïr had put up a good fight, yes, but it wasn't enough. Was that saying something about my ancestors if they couldn't work their way out of a situation in handcuffs? I mean, I had done it when I was eighteen, but things were less complicated back then, I was younger, and I wasn't cuffed to a fucking _nightstand_.

"Lucy?" I whispered, as if we were being watched by a predator. I nearly hit myself when I realized that we were.

"Yeah?" she asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

"Are you alright?" I asked. She shook her head and started to cry into my shirt, which was now, I noticed, the horribly familiar Abstergo jacket. Sure enough, I was wearing other Abstergo garbage as well. Abstergo sweatpants. Abstergo running shoes, as if they expected me to go somewhere. I couldn't release my arm from Lucy to check, but I was pretty sure I was wearing Abstergo underwear as well. ((I promise I'll take this out. Let me have my fun XD))

"This is so…fucked." She cried. She had been crying a lot lately. And it killed me that I couldn't think of what to do besides hold her. I was just as bad as my father. She kept talking. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to do everything _right_." With her free hand, she rested it on my chest, warming my body as well as my face. It was a good thing she wasn't look—

She looked up at me. I felt my toes clench. Her bright blue eyes, though not as pure blue as Lacrima's, pierced my own with a strange intensity I couldn't place. They questioned the bright red around my ears. They looked into my very soul, and I suddenly felt so uncomfortable.

"I…" I said, trailing off as I looked away. I tried to find something, anything, to distract me. All the items were familiar to me, so I couldn't ask "What's that?" and change the subject. Lucy's hand pressed slightly down on me.

"Desmond…we'll make it through this." She whispered. I nearly sighed in relief. She thought I was thinking about escaping! It crushed me a little bit, but relieved my discomfort of being so close to her.

"Hey…" I said as she looked away sadly. "It'll be fine. We just gotta—" I was cut off by the swish of the door and angry footfalls outside the door.

Dr. Warren Vidic walked in, and he did not look happy.

* * *

I hated this time. It was so unfamiliar to me, and I had no idea how things worked. I was used to short buildings made of clay, roofs that I could climb on, and the sun. There was no sun. Just the harsh white light that Lacrima had called "light bulbs". I couldn't move my body. I started to panic in my mind. All I could do was blink my eyes. Open. Closed. Open again. All I could see was my stationary vision, the unmoving circle of white. Was I dead? Had a knife been thrown into my throat? Had they killed me when I was down?

By the end of a half hour (or so I think) I could faintly feel the entirety of my left foot, though I could still not move it. I could breathe, but make no sound. In this case, I was convinced that I shouldn't. A couple of agonizing hours later (again, the time wasn't relevant to me) I could move my head to the side and back. Great. I'm unarmed with the exception of my left foot and the side of my face. I should be fine.

A door opened, but I couldn't tell from where. Short, staccato steps echoed through a hall, and I sensed the presence of a woman. The person carried an air of perfume, one that muddled my already-clouded mind. Before they could get a chance to see that I was moving, I resumed my first position and closed my eyes, trying to slip into my sixth sense, through it would do me no good. I gave up after a second and waited for her entrance.

Her footsteps quickened as she entered the room. The door slid shut and she knelt down beside me, her lips inches from my ear. "My name is Audrey Jacobs. I'm here to help." Why was it that when she said it, I could easily believe her? Her voice was so convincing, that I almost nodded my head yes. "Can you move?" I opened my eyes, and she caught the motion with her peripheral vision. I closed them quickly; the white light blinding me. "Okay. This is going to hurt, but I promise you'll thank me later."

What was she talking abo—

Something sharp rammed into my chest, and I actually gasped aloud in shock. White fire spread through my body at impossible speeds, and my body began to shiver and shake. I could feel every particle of air on every pore of my skin. My hair stood on end, and I felt flashed of cold among the intense heat. With a sickening slurping sound, the thing was pulled out of my chest and replaced with something soft. My body now ached, and I groaned in pain.

"Shh. You'll be fine."

That woman did this to me—whatever it was. It seemed that she was holding me down with the small gauze pad, but I shot up and grasped her throat with my right hand, my left hand poised in a fist, an invisible hidden blade poking out of where my ring finger should be. My hand faltered on her soft, small neck and I finally saw what she looked like.

Her mousy brown hair matched the mousy fright that entombed her at the moment. Her mossy green eyes were filled with fear. All in all, she was very pretty, and obviously attractive—she was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned in a stark V. I managed to steal a glance at the short black skirt she was wearing, out of which long, smooth legs stood out of. I felt my face flush as I let go of her, obviously she posed no threat to me. She took three large steps back, each of them punctuated with a _click_ from her shoes.

"If I'm going to get you out of here, you're going to have to let me live. We need to go." She tapped the wall in a certain sequence and an opening was made. I hopped off the metal table, my back sore. I did a few quick stretches and ran after her. For a woman, she was surprisingly fast. And that added to the fact that I was currently fighting my body with every step. "Hurry up! And stay close. I only have so much time before the loop tape finishes." I tried to think of something to say, to show her that I knew what she had meant. "Wait." She stopped at the mouth of a hallway.

She turned around and kissed me.

* * *

I gasped aloud when I was pulled out of the Animus. Lucy was chained to the machine, a gun pointed at her head. Looking around, I saw one pointed at my right ear. Lucy had been crying; her eyes were red and blotchy, her fingers moved without effort on the keys. Vidic stood somewhere else in the room; I wasn't sure where. I just felt his presence there.

I sighed and lay back down on the Animus. I felt filthy, dirty. How long had it been since I had taken a shower? I squirmed around on the hard table, waiting for the familiar glass screen to slide over my head.

My vision suddenly flashed black, and I was somewhere else.

_Trees…green…we were in a forest. Men from around me laughed aloud, heartily. The forest sped forward around me in a blur. I could barely register that I was running. "Slow down up there!" someone shouted. I looked over the side of the cliff that I was running alongside. A guard, clad in his uniform—white robes, emblazoned with a blood-red cross—sat on his steed, a tired creature who was obviously in pain. Not only did this trouble me, but it enraged me. This animal had done nothing. Why make it suffer? "Get down from there! This is the King's Forest!" the guard—the Templar—shouted again._

"_No, I don't think I will!" I laughed. He pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming for me._

_My mind kicked into overdrive, and I whipped my own bow out—a dark oak wood, with the string made of the strongest linen ever made, in my humble opinion. Delilah was her name, and she never missed her target. I nocked one of the specially-made arrows in a heartbeat, my quiver shivering on my back._

_I breathed out and blinked. An arrow was directly in his skull. I pulled the lichen-green hood over my head, for it had fallen off when I had been running. The bow was secured to my back again and I took off. My men weren't far behind. They had been given our next location whilst they were packing up the campsite._

"_Rooobin!!" someone called not far up the hill awhile later. I smiled. Marion._

* * *

I nearly threw up when I was jolted out of the memory. Great. Now I wasn't only related to two assassins, but now Robin Hood. My mind was whirling around my head. I was impossibly thirsty, and I could taste the bile come up in my throat. "Desmond!" Lucy shrieked. I was shivering. This was crazy. I was so cold, and so hot at the same time. My palms were sweaty, and clammy. I couldn't feel my feet.

"This is what will happen if you don't work faster." Vidic's voice came from across the room. I felt dizzy, though I was not moving.

"Wha—you _knew_ this would happen?" she asked, hysterical. I stopped shivering so I could listen to her. Her voice was pulling me back to reality. I could still see the forest in my head, like an aftertaste of a strong drink. _Keep talking, Lucy_.

"Of course we knew. We made it happen." Vidic said in his nonchalant accent that made my toes curl. With a huff, I breathed out the air I didn't realize I was holding in.

"How? And _why?_" she asked in a harsh whisper. I could barely open my eyes, as they were flooded with harsh, artificial light.

"We put a tiny device in his cerebellum, before any of the tests were performed. They were the only reason the tests even worked. The magnetic signals interfaced with the Animus, sending neuroelectrical waves through his spine, and…well, you know the rest. Without it, we would be nothing." I heard his footsteps grow further away. "And as for why," he continued. It was hard to concentrate with this sudden knowledge flooding my mind. "We used it to see if we could keep him under control. Obviously not." I could hear the smirk in his voice. "But once we have our neurosurgeons…upgrade it, we'll be able to do all sorts of things. Would you like to hear them?" obviously, the Templars knew it was more of a statement than a question. When Lucy started to protest, I heard her cry out. My eyes shot open.

Her Templar had hit her in the forehead with the barrel of his gun, drawing blood. I became enraged, and attempted to break free of the handcuffs. I was washed over with a sea of nausea and had to stop after a moment. Vidic went on.

"We'll be able to see into all his memories, past and present. At our own will. And he'll have no idea what's going on. The Animus 3, as we call it, will allow him to be set free in the world, with only a few checkups from our Templar agents. Unfortunately, this 'bleeding effect', as you call it, will still remain, as it did when we were testing on him." Sure. Set free.

"Well, I really have got to be going. Miss Bureau is scheduled for surgery in a couple of hours." He paused for a moment. "Oh, like you didn't know? We've been researching her for months, Lucy. Surely you didn't _lie_ to Mr. Miles?" Lucy was silent.

What?

* * *

She pulled back from the kiss and stared at me with lust-filled eyes. "I had to." She said, in a mock-playful way. I was confused, and still caught up in the moment. Her lips were so soft, softer than Lacrima's, and her scent intoxicated me. I had to steady myself on the wall. She looked at me for a second, and shot off down the hall. I followed. Where was she going? She pointed me into this small square box. After I got in, she followed. She pressed something on the wall, something I couldn't see, before she turned back to me. She snatched up my shirt and pulled me forward. She was quite strong, compared to the handicapped me. She smashed her face up against mine and I felt my lips freeze. This was wrong. This was so very, very wrong. I made my body go still, unresponsive.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, her hands sliding down my arms, along with her lips. I bit my tongue, not answering her. I tried to block out the hands that lingered by a scar, a scar that was only touched by one person: Lacrima. "Am I not…provocative enough?" she purred in my ear, blowing on my soft skin. I started to recite the Creed in my head.

_Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent…_

Al Mualim's words rang clear through my head. I was unarmed at the moment, but the simple sentence meant so much more. What if I got carried away? Who would I hurt? It would kill Lacrima. And what if this Audrey person was just using me as a ruse, and I eventually trusted her? How would that be good?

_Hide in plain sight…_

But I could just _not_ tell Lacrima…Audrey's hands lingered lower, and I bit my tongue so hard that I could taste the coppery blood in my mouth.

_Do not compromise the Brotherhood…_

She worked for these people. She was a part of their elaborate scheme to take over the world. She was just as bad as Maria. She would say she loved me, and then rip herself out of my heart. Sides played an awful part in this game of cat and mouse. I could hear my breathing, slow and occasionally broken. No, no, _no…_

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted…_

I pushed her off. "No." I growled. "I'm not your doll." I said, punctuating every word with a sense of self-balance. She shrank away from me, but a dubious look remained in her eyes. I felt myself shake with anger. No. The door opened, but neither of us moved.

"Fine. We'll reassess that _later_." She said, walking out into the maze of glass.

* * *

_Hmm? What was that? You want..._another chapter??_ Oh, well. If I must..._


	28. The Deal

_I say that Abstergo makes their femal employees dress like hobags. I also think that Lucy is a little fat and whiny. She needs to lay off the Desmond-shaped chocolate bars...fatty_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Assassin's Creed, although some characters are skanky hobags.**

* * *

This was so crazy. I woke up dizzily, my mind whirling around at a hundred miles an hour. I remembered falling asleep on the metal table after an hour or so, and now this? But what else?

My entire body ached, like I was being flattened by a straightening iron. I groaned. I remember masculine voices, and pain…lots of pain…

Something opened in the room and two people walked in. I shrunk away instinctively. After a beat, I opened my eyes.

I thought I was seeing things. Altaïr was in the room, hovering over me, holding my hand…I almost started crying.

"We need to go." A light voice said from the side of me. I was lifted up by Altaïr, fireman style, and I felt him start to run. I closed my eyes to keep out the nausea. What was going on?

"Alta…ïr…" I mumbled. I could see the underside of his chin, and his neck. He made no acknowledgement of my saying anything, so I tried again. I barely got the first syllable out before he shushed me.

"Shh. We're going to be fine." He said under his breath. His arms from under me felt stiff, like tree limbs. He breathed out, his chest heaving against my right shoulder.

"Where's Lucy? Des…mond?" I asked. He stole a quick glance down at me. Words were clogging up my throat, like a swollen tongue. I swallowed once and tried to concentrate on his answer.

"They've moved them to a separate part of the building. We're going to go find them, and leave." He didn't sound too sure of himself on that last part, but I let him carry me.

* * *

After Vidic and the rest of the Templar crew had left, I turned my fixed stare onto Lucy. "You have three seconds to start talking." I said.

She took a deep breath in and started rambling like a madwoman.

"I'm so sorry, Desmond. I didn't know. This was before you had come—before 16. We were just looking up the genetic lines from the assassins we knew. I didn't know that we would actually _find_ her, after, but—but, we did, and now I regret all of it. I'm so sorry, Desmond." Her words made my heart sink down, down, down, somewhere deep and dark that I hadn't visited in years.

"So…you didn't just 'stumble upon' them like you said?" I spat. She tried to put her hand on mine, and I pulled away sharply.

"I—"

"Did Shaun and Rebecca know about this? Did they know they were going to die?" she didn't answer fast enough, so I shouted "Answer me, Lucy!" while hitting the back of my head against the metal plates of the Animus. I felt my eyes and nose sting, and I couldn't feel my heart anymore. It was just falling, falling, falling. I grew cold.

"They didn't know." She sobbed. "I didn't know. I didn't know this would happen. Please. Please." She whispered. "Please."

"Lucy, I don't know what you're saying 'please' for, but I'm not doing anything for you unless I can be sure that everything is going to be alright in the end." I raised my other arm and covered my face with my hand. I wiped the wet tears out of my eyes. I was crying. Why was I crying?

"I don't know that, Desmond. I…they…you know that I'm not doing this because I want to. You know that." She was referring to when she was dragged out of bed by the four Templar agents. Right now, I didn't even think that that story was real. "Desmond, please, I—"

"Just be quiet."

* * *

**A/N: Desmond is SUCH a skanky hobag (credit to Coral for coining the term)**

* * *

Lacrima was falling asleep in my arms. She was exhausted, tired. No wonder; she had been beaten half to death by the Templars. And who knew what else. I couldn't even look at her without cringing. I followed Audrey silently through the maze of glass and metal. Everything was sharp, like it'd break by the slightest touch or cut you if you looked at it for too long.

"Hurry up, assassin." Audrey said coldly from in front of me. I shifted Lacrima in my arms, trying not to brush a bruise. I felt my body tense with anger, and quake in agony. Why did they have to do this to her?

We found our way through the maze a couple of minutes later, and we were faced with a dead-end wall. My stomach dropped slightly at the sight, but Audrey went up and tapped a code into the wall, and a door about ten feet away slid open. We went in and I found myself in another one of those small boxes that had carried me down into the maze. This time, we were going up.

* * *

"Well, now that we've all had our little chat, we can finally move you into the new facility on the other side of the building. We've already put Miss Bureau through…treatment, and we're prepping her surgery now…Mister Jessup." A man went around to my side and put a shock collar on me. I bit my lip. "These little toys will make sure you behave. Ah, look, Miss Stillman matches." Vidic said amusedly. Sure enough, Lucy was getting her own shock collar. I wanted to press her button until she screamed. This was horrible.

We were shoved through the halls (I on a gurney, Lucy walking) in silence, and I reacted numbly to the fact that we had passed a wall that had said 'Morgue: Straight Ahead'. Lucy had started to cry again. The sound, once so delicate and heartbreaking, now sounded pathetic and childish, like getting a small scuff on your knee.

"Just shut up." I whispered, the sound of her strained breaths too much for me to handle. "Please."

She stopped, but only because of a small zapping sound and a pained whimper. I bit my tongue to keep from doing anything brash, but I couldn't help the way my vision flashed red and my blood boiled in my veins.

"Almost there, Mr. Miles." Vidic said in his totally condescending tone that was meant to make me feel reassured. I almost spat out a nice "Fuck you" but refrained, not wanting to be a part of the Shocked Brainless Club.

We passed along in silence, my anger and complete loathing emanating around me. Lucy's sorrow pitched in to the awkwardness of the moment. I knew she was sorry. I knew that, but she didn't. We just had to play them off like I was unearthly angry at her. I wanted to just scream that I was faking; that it was going to be alright. But when we entered that room, I became dubious.

* * *

My eyes were flooded in light. Altaïr was still moving, but at a significantly slower pace. He was walking. I wondered if I could talk to him. "Altaïr?" my voice trembled from fear and lack of use, but it caught his attention. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with an unusual emotion. I was taken aback. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He said vaguely, throwing a glance at the woman in front of us. I could hear her impatient words of "hurry up" and "could you move any slower", but I couldn't register them as fast.

"Okay." I said. I tried to make myself comfortable, but between his arms being steel rods and my newfound restlessness, the prospect of falling asleep again was easier said than done. "Can I walk? Miss Priss up there seems like we should go faster."

"You walking will slow us down. And I don't mind." He said in his monotone voice.

"Where are we going?" I asked immediately after. It was a question that was up there with "where are we", "why are we here", "how did you get here", and my personal favorite, "what took you so long".

"We're heading over to the separate building where they're keeping Desmond and Lucy. Then we're escaping."

"I'm surprised the alarms hadn't gone off by now." I mumbled, more to myself than anything.

"Audrey said she had disabled them, but we only have a certain amount of time before we're initially caught. Hey, what's a morgue?"

* * *

The scent of death and sanitation tools reeked from the moment I was reeled in there. I realized now why Lucy had been crying. The words on the walls…morgue.

I almost groaned. We were screwed. Where were Lacrima and Altaïr? Surely they had suffered less of a fate than we were. Hopefully they were together, to keep each other company. Lucy and I weren't on speaking terms, exactly, but we were still in each other's presence, and that was comforting, to say the least.

"I guess you know what we'll be doing here, Mr. Miles?" the way that Vidic said my name made me want to slaughter kittens. I wanted to change my name to something he couldn't pronounce. "We're going to set you free."

Altaïr, where are you?

* * *

I held onto her tight as we made our way into the room that smelled like the Hospitalliers' Hospital in Acre. I wanted to vomit. Everything gleamed, like new armor. I could hear voices from around the corner, and Audrey motioned for us to stop. I grasped Lacrima in my arms, ready to make a run for it. "…we're going to set you free." That voice…I knew that voice.

Where?

* * *

Altaïr's grip on me tightened considerably in a matter of seconds. I could feel him getting ready to run. But neither of us knew the floor plan of Abstergo, and Audrey did. "Why do you need _me_ here?" Lucy. Lucy was here. She sounded like she'd been crying—her voice was all hoarse, and it trembled when she spoke.

"Ahh, the trillion-dollar question, isn't it, Miss Stillman?" the British voice spoke again. "You started all of this. Now you get to see it end. I'll save a bit of his lungs for you." The voice continued. Tension was high as it was, and it seemed to escalate with every word.

"Dr. Vidic." Audrey walked out. I could sense Altaïr's stance change. He was ready to run. Audrey was betraying us.

"Ahh, Miss Jacobs. You know Miss Stillman, Mr. Miles." The voice—Dr. Vidic—went on. "You've brought them, I hope?" he inquired.

"Absolutely." Audrey turned around, and Altaïr backed up into the shadows fluidly. "Well, there's no point running. You might as well come out." Altaïr breathed out hard, like he'd just been punched in the stomach. I clenched his shirt. It was the same one he was wearing when we had left for D.C. if only he'd been wearing his robes. Then he could flick out a knife and kill some bastards.

To my dismay, he walked out, and I fainted.

* * *

Lacrima's body went limp in my arms, and I thought she had been knocked out with another one of those poison darts. When I assessed her as quickly as I could, I found that she had only fainted. "Ahh…the man of the hour. You're the reason we're all here, you know. In this position. In this very lab." His words were empty to me. I was concentrating on other things.

Like the audacity of Audrey, betraying us like that. I knew it was better not to trust her. And now, she stood there, with her smug little smile. I glared at her hard, and her smirk faltered visibly.

I also noticed how more people seemed to file in around us, guards and more people in white, though not assassins, like I'd hoped they'd been. If we'd had a person on the inside, then we'd most likely be set.

I stared hard at the man, more in shock than anything else.

It was Al Mualim.

* * *

Altaïr just stood there. He just stood there, seemingly devoid of all thought and expression. In his arms lay a bruised, unconscious Lacrima. I wanted to reach out, make sure she was alright. But I knew better.

Templar soldiers and Abstergo scientists filed in, slowly filling the room, blocking every possible exit. I tried moving my legs, amidst all the confusion. Thankfully, they moved around slightly, responding to my whispered thoughts. I tried flexing my other muscles quickly, before anyone could notice what I was doing. Vidic went on, talking to Altaïr. "Haven't you ever wondered, how did I get here?"

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted." Altaïr spat indignantly. Vidic sighed.

"Yes, yes, we've heard it all before. You and your _creed_." He dragged the word out, like it was a piece of crap. I, along with Lucy and Altaïr, gritted my teeth, but said nothing. "What a load of it, in my opinion. Your ways of finding peace are far less effective than ours, not to brag or anything."

"Killing for peace is like fucking for virginit--aaagh!" I tried to growl, but the shock I had been expecting, almost anticipating, shot through my spine, making me grit my teeth in pain. I felt so dizzy.

"Stop." Altaïr said. He must've realized that we had something dangerous around our necks that didn't allow us an inch of slack, so he was forced to continue. "Peace through violence? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life. And I can't believe you people still haven't changed in the eight hundred years that had followed my time." He scoffed.

"We shall see. But you still haven't answered my question. Haven't you wondered?"

"…yes. But these matters aren't mine to control." He said, almost unsure of what he was saying, a thing that rarely happened.

"Ahh, quite the opposite, my boy." The scientists were taking notes on the entire encounter. Occasionally, I heard the snapping of a camera lens. Lacrima still hung limp in Altaïr's arms. Her left arm fell out of his hold, and he corrected himself, pulling her up closer. "I'm sure Miss Stillman has told you all about the Pieces of Eden, hmm?" he paused for dramatic effect. "Well, it seems that we all underestimate their powers." He added a little smirk towards the scientists, who seemed to shrink in his presence. "I'm talking about infinite control, Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad." Altaïr flinched in the mention of his assumed last name. I seemed to as well, but delayed more. Not that _I_ should seem surprised. I knew his name from the start, and if I knew, Abstergo knew three months ahead of me.

"Who would need such a thing? It seems you're all doing well right now." He said in a low whisper, as to draw the attention of whoever was listening even further.

"Well, we do. We've needed it for a good…let's see, two thousand years, almost to the number. And as for why, the three reasons are right in front of you." The room seemed to chill as his vicious stare sized up the three of us. "Now, I'm going to make you a deal: work for us, and your friends live."

* * *

_BAHAHAHAHA I'M SO GODDAMN EVILLLL!!_

_Review?_


	29. AUTHOR'S NOTE DON'T CRY

**WARNING JUST AN AUTHOR'S NOTE NO NEED TO PANIC (much)**

**Hey it's the wonderful author that writes you stories.**

**I was just putting up a fair warning of the near future. Here's some things you should know:**

**1. I may not even get the chance to post in the next few _months_.**

**2. I'm sorry.**

**3. To my beta, I'm eternally sorry, but I may not even be on the _internet_.**

**4. Do your homework, and be nice to your parents. They are the two most useful things you can do in life.**

**5. I'm sorry.**

**So here's the skinny: I have a hate for biology SO MUCH, I tend to...-ahem- _skimp._ My parent's Homework Hounds From Hell caught drift of this, and I'm up to my knees in deep shit. They say "get your act together, or else we take your computer." I make the face of DX and try. I tried, dear readers, I tried. But I JUST DON'T GET IT. Science is (and always was) my worst subject, and I ABSOLUTELY DETEST doing ANY type of work for the class...besides the coloring assignments and making flashcards, but we're getting off track. ANYWAY, I'm up to my elbows in my own mistakes, and I'm still sinking. I have posted three chapters beforehand so I could take the edge off of the horror of NO TEARDROP BUREAU. I've been working undercover, moving my saved files onto a purple flashdrive which I carry around my neck. All of TB is on it, even the chapters I haven't sent to my beta. I protect it with my life, and I will only give it to you if you can manage to pickpocket it from me, and if you are wearing an Assassin's Creed cosplay costume, I would sooner hand it over. Since my whereabouts are currently being tracked by both Templars and Assassins both, only a select few know my location (Vlad, Gavin, Miki). My parents told me this is my last night on the computer, until the end of the schoolyear, which is May 27. (Everybody put their pitchforks down) I promise to continue writing it, uploading things onto my flashdrive, and most likely mail the flashdrive to my beta, whom I love to pieces for putting up with me and my Superbowl jokes. (BTW I actually thought the Saints were gonna lose) So I'm going to entrust this information with you guys (tonight's loyal fans) and I shall see you throughout summer vacation and beyond.**

**Do your homework. If not for yourself, then for me.**

**Love,**

**lolcats-r-hot**

**PS. For all I know, my parents will have a change of heart and let me keep my internet, so don't be too discouraged. I'll write on the library computers and communicate via there.**

**I LOVE YOU ALL.  
**


	30. The Prophecy

_Hey hey hey, I'm aliiiive!!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the plotline of Assassins Creed.**

* * *

This is the vague recollection of my mind as I was passed out:

I was in a dimly lit room, a good change from the harsh lighting of the morgue. I found myself sitting in a chair. A chair with a maroon-paisley pattern, with dark wood for the arms and legs. The back of it came up to my neck, and I was comfortable in it.

I didn't notice the other man in the chair until I blinked my eyes a couple of times.

He was old; older than anybody I'd ever seen. Older than the doctor that was pulling the experiments on us all. He looked to be about a hundred and ten. Well, then again, I couldn't be too sure. He looked like he had been quite handsome in his earlier years, and was just riding the last wave of life. His eyes were a sparkling blue, and I was immediately mesmerized. They were almost the same color as mine, although I knew mine were a shade darker. His curly white hair—it didn't seem to be thinning—rested around his ears, like a giant set of earmuffs. His smile was warm and open, but also tough and guarded at the same time. Like the overprotective father of the neighborhood.

"Who are you?" I asked eventually.

"I go by many names. You may recognize me as Jupiter, or maybe Io, but you may call me Zeus. But the names change over time. The memories of us fade and become distant thoughts and fantasies." I was a little confused by the way he spoke, and who he called himself.

"You're a…a _god_?" I asked, accidentally slipping on my words. "Wait, _us?_" I looked around, expecting to see more chairs and geriatrics. There were none. The man only laughed.

"No, not a god. It seems all of you humans ask the same things and react the same ways. But that's another time, I hope. I'm not a god. I—we," he waved around the large expanse of nothingness that he expected me to see. "Simply…came before."

"Are there more people out there?" I asked, turning around in my seat. Maybe he was seeing something I couldn't. For whatever reason, I thought about Desmond and the grocery store.

I could feel myself slip into the sixth sense. Suddenly I understood.

All around me were giant slabs of glowing walls. Each of them had different markings, symbols, pictures on them. I could vaguely point out a couple of Oriental characters on a couple, all of them describing gods and lots of power. They glowed with a gold-red intensity, and when I looked back at the man, he was as blue as his eyes.

"Do you see now?" he asked, his voice echoing around the now-defined room of tombstones.

"I think so." I said uncertainly.

"Do you know why you are here?" he asked. I shook my head. "Very well." He stood up, and I was unsure of what to do. "Come." I stood up, and both chairs disappeared. He began to walk to the left of me, and I turned around so I could follow. "You are here because you sought an escape from life. A momentary one, if at all."

"Why did I do—" I cut myself off, answering my own question. Obviously my subconscious didn't want me to listen to the conversation that followed Audrey's betrayal.

We emerged in a room that looked like a modern-day board room. This was the weirdest dream I'd ever had, had it been a dream at all.

"Long ago, there was a prophecy. You may want to sit." I saw that the chairs had come back, and that their main purpose was to invite people to sit in them. And I did just that. The old man paced away, and disappeared.

"Uh—?" I asked.

Suddenly his voice surrounded me like a stereo. "This prophecy was a…a warning from us. A warning that the world was going to end. There are three parts to this prophecy:

"The first part says that the world is going to end. This was known a good ten thousand years before your time. The world was ending, ever since its inception. The world is going to go up in flames, all around you. You know this because of your peers' work on geomagnetic reversal and solar flares."

"Of course, but 2012 is just a hoax, sir—" I was cut off.

"Silence, please. You are here to receive the message." The old man's voice continued. "The second part of the prophecy says that a brother and a sister will meet at the quarter of their lives. This is you, Lacrima. You and Desmond Miles."

"Wait—how are we _siblings_? My only sister is a Templar slut now!" I yelled, getting angered and confused.

"Your _sister_ is not in the right state of mind." He said harshly, as if something was wrong with my statement. "Besides, it's not a literal meaning, Miss Bureau. It's a _metaphor_. Brothers and sisters are metaphors for extreme amounts of trust, loyalty, and friendship. The Assassin Brotherhood uses these terms, because of the prophecy. Even when the Knights Templar get a hold of the prophecy, they began to use these terms. People thought them holy, like they were Brothers and Sisters of God."

"So this metaphor must've caused a bunch of false meanings to save the world from, right? Like 1984? Y2K?" I asked, not sure of where to look.

"Yes." He said, not emphasizing on the topic more. "The third part of the prophecy is what they should have listened to. It says that they should guard against the cross. You know what this means, I hope?" I nodded once. "They were guarding against themselves. In turn, they were killing themselves. This prophecy is meant for the Assassins. Not the Knights Templar. Not the normal people. This prophecy is meant for the Assassins—the children of two worlds!" just as he was finishing his speech, he reappeared in front of me, sitting in the chair next to me. I swiveled around to look at him.

"You must save the world, Lacrima."

There was a loud crash, and I was falling, falling, falling.

* * *

I absolutely loathed the stupidity of Altaïr. He said yes. He must've known that they were going to kill us all anyway. I wondered why, but he started to make odd requests, contrary to what I would've done. He told them to take off the shock collars. They did. He told them to let me walk. I stood up shakily, and they let me. His last request was to talk to us alone. They didn't quite agree to that, but Vidic ushered them out anyways. He knew he had the security footage to tell what we were saying anyway, and Altaïr couldn't fashion a weapon out of a dead person's fingernail…probably.

Lacrima was shifted onto a table, still unconscious. "It's been great. This is the most challenging thing I'd ever done in my life, and that's saying a lot. I hope I'll see you on the other side." He lay Lacrima down and went over to hug Lucy. My eyes widened as well as hers, and she eventually gave him a pat on his back for good measure. He turned to me, and I gave him a dubious, 'what the hell are you up to' stare. He wrapped me in his arms, and I understood why. "Follow me." He said. "Pat my back if you understand." I did just that. What did he have in mind? This man was crazy. He let go of me and scooped up Lacrima in his arms. I turned to Lucy. Her expression matched mine. "We've got to go now." Altaïr said in a slow, steady voice. I stood up and followed him out the door. I looked around. The scientists were gone. The only ones left were Vidic, three Templars, Audrey, and us. I recognized Audrey from the brief encounter with her boss, Alan Rikkin. She looked so…unconfident, then. Now, she was smirking at us with a smug look on her face, contempt boiling in her eyes. We all, in turn, glared at her, with the exception of Lacrima.

Altaïr, what did you have under your sleeve?

* * *

I walked out, scanning the views of windows, trying to find a decent place to land. The three scalpels in my pocket was slick with the sweat from my hand. The man seemed to drone on about what his company did, and I just nodded like I was listening. Suddenly I found the right place to jump. Not too far down, and there was a considerable pile of leaves that I hoped didn't have rocks underneath them. I was about to call out the signal, but the man in white—the one that was Al Mualim, but wasn't—stopped and turned around. "Now, do you have any last words on the matter?" he asked. What perfect timing.

"Have you ever studied the human anatomy?" I asked.

"Of course I have. I'm a doctor, aren't I?" he said, nonchalantly.

"Well, then. You should know these things," I said, handing Lacrima off to Desmond. I put my hands in my pockets and strolled around in the direct vicinity. In a flash, I had buried both of the scalpels into the two guards trailing us. I rushed at Audrey with one, slicing her throat open. Blood sprayed everywhere as she tried to gurgle air into her lungs. The doctor stood there, in shock. "This," using the bloodied scalpel, I plunged it deep into his thigh. He cried out in pain as his blood seeped out from around the wound. I jerked the blade out, adrenaline rushing through my veins. "Means that you will bleed out in a matter of twenty minutes." The man was trying to hold back the waterfall of blood in his leg. I swooped around to the other side, burying the knife in his lower back. "This," I said, leaning close to his ear. "This means that you will lose feeling in your lower body for the rest of your life." I twisted it around, relishing in the strained cries he was eliciting. "And this," I said coming back around. My arms, my body, and my face were now soaked in blood. "This is for my own satisfaction." I said, and with a roar, I stuck the scalpel deep in his throat, his eyes pleading for mercy. But I would give him none.

Desmond and Lucy were staring at me, wide-eyed. Desmond looked like he was going to pass out. "We need to go." I kicked a window twice, and I tore off my shirt. Using the unsoiled side, I wiped off most of my face and arms.

I squeezed Lacrima to my chest, and ran out the window as fast as I could.

"Oh my GOD!" something screamed next to my ear. Lacrima. "What the _fuck_ are you—" her yelling was cut off by an ear-splitting scream that left my ears ringing for hours afterward.

We landed in the pile, our fall cushioned to the extreme. It seemed we had landed in a large cart. Little dots of light peeked out of the top, and the rest was pitch-black. I held Lacrima to me so that she wouldn't wriggle around and get lost in the leaves, and I found the bottom. My foot made a low, metallic _clang_ and my ankle was gripped by a hand. I flinched and pulled my leg away. "Stop! It's me!" a familiar voice said.

"Shaun?" Lacrima and I asked at the same time.

* * *

The fall was more exhilarating than the multiple times I'd executed them in the Animus. One, we were in a skyscraper. Two, we were actually falling in a nice pile of leaves. And three, we were all safe.

The truck of leaves pulled away from where it had been a second later. I was thankful that Lucy had gone before me, because if she hadn't, then she would've been flatter than a pancake. I found her hand in the leaves and held it tightly. I pulled her closer to me, and filled my lungs with the scent of leaves and Lucy. It was euphoric. She started crying again, and I wondered if she had gotten hurt. Then I realized she was laughing. It was contagious; I started laughing as well.

"Lucy? Desmond?" my eyes widened and my throat became useless. I felt my body go cold. Shaun. It was Shaun. Oh my god. This wasn't real. Something gripped my shoulder, and I whipped around. I could see the faint glint of glasses, and I thought I was seeing a ghost. I felt Lucy's breaths come in short gasps. She was seeing it too. "It's Shaun. Come on, you're not happy to see me?" he asked in his sarcastic voice. This couldn't be real. This wasn't possibly real.

"You're dead!" Lucy whispered. I could see a flash of hurt come across Shaun's face, but it disappeared as he gripped my forearm.

"It's a long story. Come on up front."

* * *

I couldn't sleep, no matter what I did. All of us stayed silent, staring at Rebecca and Shaun in the front seat of the leaf truck. They kept saying that we were going back, and we were starting the mission over, that they had planned everything out in the month that we were gone. "A month?" Desmond asked. I stared at him like he was a new person. I tried to wrap my head around what I had seen. I needed to tell him before I could forget, but I knew that I wouldn't forget it until the day I died. But I couldn't tell him now. We needed to be alone. Or did we? I think that if Lucy knew, it'd be better than if we just kept it a secret and we were all confused in the end.

"Yeah, it's November seventeenth." Altaïr looked dumbfounded, but then again, so did all of the rest of us. I told Altaïr not to worry about it. Usually time went by so much slower. But that was because we were underground, and not being chased by Templars. Well, scratch that last bit. "So, we'll explain everything to you back at base. We had a lot of time to pack things up and ship them over to the new base. We've met some friends as well…"

Rebecca trailed off, noticing our fatigue. "Lacrima, what happened to you?" I didn't realize the question was directed as me until most of the entire truck cab was looking at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked, forgetting the question a good three seconds after it had been asked.

"What happened? You know, like…" she made a vague gesture at my body and face, and I had no idea what she was talking about.

"I don't understand." I said slowly. She rummaged through a bag on her lap. Shaun had switched to driving after the first hour or so. Handing me a mirror, I looked at the small reflection of myself.

My eyes were all puffed up and each sported uneven black bruises. No wonder it was so hard to keep them open. My lip was cut in several different places, and bloody on the sides. I had nasty purple marks on my neck and cheeks, and my hair was all messed up. I looked down at my arms, and bit my lip. They looked like they'd gone through a lawn mower. The original scar seemed to say "I told you so". I gave the mirror shakily back to Rebecca and tried to remember how this had happened. "I don't know." I whispered. A memory flashed through my head.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter. Bruises fade." My mother's voice told me. I had come home from an ice skating field trip with a big black bruise on the side of my face. Of course, Jasika was there to see the whole thing. She had done it. I was talking to this guy Frank in our class, and she came up behind me and bumped into me hard, and smoothed it out by doing a double Lutz and earning a round of applause from everyone but me and Frank, who was helping me up.

"It's okay. I saw that." He said as he walked me off the rink. "You're sister is such a bitch." he commented as he bandaged my face. I didn't cry. I didn't want to cry in front of Frank. He was such a nice guy, and so funny. I had the biggest crush on him.

"Yeah. What am I gonna say to my parents?" I asked after he was done. We had only just gotten to the rink, and we had another two hours left. "If I tell them that Jasika did it, she'll say I'm lying and I'll just get in trouble." We were in the ninth grade at the time, and Jasika in twelfth. She had been held back a year, but that was supposedly erased on her permanent record, which got her into such a prestigious college that year.

"You don't have to say anything. It doesn't matter anymore." He fidgeted with the bandage on the side of my face, his hand lingering longer than needed. I looked into his dark brown eyes and pressed a soft, slow kiss to his lips. The memory was sweet and totally innocent, and we stayed in contact as long as we could. I eventually drifted away from him, and forgot about him.

I came home and ignored the looks my family gave me at dinner. I hadn't said anything to anyone, not even Jasika, when she gave me the usual ride home from school that day. She sat there, stealing glances at the white bandage and the lingering smile on my lips. I was thinking about Frank. The only time that anyone talked to me about it is when I was fussing with it in the mirror and my mom walked in and told me that bruises faded.

Altaïr put an arm around my waist, groaning a little from either pain or fatigue, and, surprisingly, I didn't object.

Now I could sleep.

* * *

_Read on..._


	31. Sleep

_Second Chapter Post FTW_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Assassins Creed, Ubisoft, any characters therein. If my mind was amazing enough to invent those things, do you think I'd be sitting here writing fanfiction?**

* * *

"We're almost there." Rebecca chimed excitedly. I groaned in the back seat.

"You said the same thing twenty minutes ago. And we haven't moved three feet!" I protested.

The traffic was so bad on the off-ramp into the city that people had decided to give up hours ago and just wade through. We had turned on the radio a while back, to see what the holdup was, and it was apparently an accident in the immediate intersection we were supposed to go through. Lucy had fallen asleep about fifteen minutes ago, her head shifting towards my shoulder. I bit my lip and fought the urge to hold her palm-up hand that rested on my thigh. Shaun eventually killed the engine and just waited. There wasn't that good of a reception for the music channel on the radio, and we didn't want to listen to waves of static.

"Yeah, but it's just off that street up there." She said. The intersection wasn't for another hundred yards or so. I could see news helicopters, and news vans around us, all of us stuck in the same pile of shit known as rush hour. What irony, you know? The mixture of the accident and the cleanup would take about an hour or so. I rested my head back against the seat, closing my eyes in the process.

That had been a lucky escape. I didn't know if we were going to be able to do it again.

My restlessness got the best of me, and I decided to watch the front windshield. Although the city was dull and boring to me, now I was regretting ever agreeing to leave my home. Yeah, that far back. I suppressed a loud groan of disapproval.

This city is the source of all my problems (besides my parents, I mean). This city is my worst enemy. My worst memories were recorded here, in this city. And now I was back again.

Boston, I hate you.

* * *

As Lacrima's head drooped against my shoulder, I was so glad, so happy to see her, but guilt kept surging through my body. How could I tell her about what Audrey did? I couldn't. I decided not to think about it, and hopefully it would go away. I laced my fingers through hers. They were warm, and squeezed my hand a bit, but she was still asleep. She nudged her head towards mine. I sighed loudly, not wanting to be in the small, cramped space any longer.

Everyone around me was quiet. The silence seemed to slice through any armor, and I was immediately restless. I tapped my fingers against my leg, trying to find a distraction. Rebecca had started to talk to Shaun, but I could see it was only a distraction for her as well; a petty excuse to break the silence, if only for a moment. I didn't even have the time to translate it, I was so bored. My crash of adrenaline was coming at me hard. I felt myself slip in and out of consciousness. All was quiet yet again.

Suddenly, the slightly familiar buildings and tall, shiny windows came into view. My eyes widened in awe. I hadn't seen it from this angle yet. The windows glinted blood- red in the ending sun, the steel structures lifeless and cold, like the people that inhabited them. _A person's home reflects the person,_ a maid once told me in Masyaf, after remarking on my own room.

Masyaf. It was hard to think about my world at all. I could only imagine what Malik was doing. But Malik was dead, if we were in this time. All of them were dead. Malik, Maria…everyone. I rolled my eyes to the roof, as if expecting something to be there.

There was nothing.

My mind imminently drifted back to my old room. My room, with my extremely unused bed and open window. It had a stone balcony that led down to a haystack at least three hundred feet high. The entire castle was most likely in shambles, now. Ruins. Little scraps of rough dirt where clothes and sheets used to be. Rotten mud where delicately stained wood used to shine. And only stones, where a once-unsurpassable fortress stood. I scratched an itch on my nose. It made me think: what would life have been like if I would've just made it to Jerusalem, like I'd planned? It'd most likely be boring, compared to what I've seen here. And there would be no Lacrima…but maybe I could take her with me? The prospect darkened my mood, and I realized that I could be whisked away at any time. I held her closer.

I rubbed small circles on her back with my thumb, silently lulling me into a trance, and then putting me to sleep.

* * *

How was it that everyone around me could sleep, and I could not? Everyone but Shaun was awake, because he was driving, and even then he looked unconscious at the wheel. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could, and shifted my body in place. We were finally in the city, and pretty far in, by the looks of it. The accident was minor, in my opinion, but due to the size of the city and the amount of cars going through, everyone had to stop and stare at the darkening bloodstains on the asphalt, including us. I would space out from time to time, but nothing would ever happen, and it never ended in a nap or even light dozing. How much further?

Lucy turned fitfully in her sleep. She was so tired, she could barely talk a couple hours ago. I winced at the blow on her head—a large purple bruise. I couldn't take this. I spoke up. "How much longer?" I asked.

Shaun, at first, didn't answer, so I asked again.

He shook himself out of his little daze and answered. "We're about a mile out. I should radio in…" he didn't even have the energy to put sarcasm in his words. I bit my lip. This was so utterly boring. "We're almost at the gate." He said into a radio by the dashboard. He got no reply.

Night fell fast in the city, something I had forgotten. It was November, and that meant cold. I hoped the place we were going had heating; this truck didn't. I could see everyone's breath.

I was surprised that we hadn't been pulled over, or even shot at. This thought made me anxious. Obviously the Templars had a plan. I was nervous to find out.

Several minutes later, Shaun sat up straighter and woke Rebecca. I became attentive, although I was so tired. Lines blurred, and I couldn't tell which direction we were going. All of the lights were the same pattern of blue, green, yellow; blue, green, yellow. I shook Lucy awake, as well as Altaïr and Lacrima.

* * *

Desmond woke us up, looking like hell. His eyes were ringed in purple, and heavily lidded. From what I could see out the windshield, it was already dark. We were in the heart of Boston, from all of the outdated Red Sox posters. Sporting was banned altogether a year ago, due to "unnecessary acts of violence". Or so it's said.

Shaun pulled into one of those underground parking lots. He went down three levels, and up one again. He stopped in the middle of the road, the engine idling. "What are you doing?" Lucy asked him.

"Waiting." He whispered.

A couple of tense, silence-filled minutes later, three homeless people came out of the shadows, carrying a bucket and sponges. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I hated these people. Shaun rolled down the window, and I shrunk into my seat, trying to make myself disappear. Ever since I was a child, I had had an irrational fear of homeless people.

"You wan' a window washin', suh?" the man said to Shaun. I shook my head no. What the HELL was he doing?

"Why yes I do. How much do I owe you?" Shaun asked steadily and calmly in that British accent of his. My toes curled in embarrassment and shame. This was horrible. Altaïr could feel me tensing up from next to him. He began to rub circles into my tight neck, melting my arms into goo.

"The password's umbrella." The homeless person whispered. He walked away from the car, my eyes as big as saucers. Shaun rolled up the window, and the homeless people began to wash the outside of the car. The water had a surprisingly low level of dirt.

"What the hell's going on?" I asked.

"We're getting into headquarters." Shaun said.

* * *

Lacrima had tensed quickly at the sight of the three beggars. They were now washing the front glass of the car. We had ditched the pile of leaves hours ago, and had switched to a faster car. It was the same one we had driven out in, and I was itching to ask how Shaun had managed to get it. But I wasn't going to ask now.

"We're getting into headquarters." He had said. By the way Lucy and Rebecca had shared a quick glance that only I could pick up on, Lucy knew what Shaun was talking about. But what was 'headquarters'? We were in an underground cave!

Shaun drove up to the place we entered, the guard at the front making a motion for us to stop. Shaun stopped, and rolled down the window by his side. The guard leaned into the car, and I shrank back in my seat, obscuring myself from him. "You folks doing alright tonight?" he asked. His voice was similar to Desmond's, but obviously different. He didn't have the same accent as Lacrima or Shaun, and spoke in a laid-back manner that most people didn't have. I examined his young face dubiously and cautiously. I didn't trust him, not one bit.

"We're doing alright." Shaun said, looking the man in the eye and sounding sincere, for once. Did he know this man of 'authority'?

"Great weather, eh?" he asked, turning his head to the front entrance. I shivered at the frigidity of the air. Right. Great weather. "Yeah. I hear there's going to be a white winter this year." The guard looked back, his eyes connecting with mine for a second. I thought I saw a small nod from him, and I was shocked for a moment before calming down. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. He wouldn't know me anyways.

"Yeah, but with snow comes rain, you know? Gotta whip out the old umbrella." Shaun said. I could feel everyone in the car holding their breath. What was an umbrella?

"Yup. Okay, I'll let y'all go now. You might wanna take the back entrance back home; this one's still got traffic going through from that accident a couple of hours ago. There were no other cars in the street. It was only us. I wondered what he meant by that.

"I'll take your word for it, mate." Shaun said, and backed out of the small space we had cornered ourselves into. He turned around, and drove away. The window went up.

"What the hell was that, Shaun?" Lacrima asked from next to me.

"Simple measures. It's how we get into the city." Rebecca said from next to him.

"Wait. The _city?_ Whatever happened to headquarters?" Desmond asked.

"You'll see once we get there." We passed another exit, and I noticed there were a considerable amount of guards waiting. But this wasn't the one we were going to, I presumed, because Shaun drove past, determined on the small point of light at the end of the cave.

He finally drove up to it, and stopped. The three guards came around, taking notes. I didn't know what for, but they eventually finished and stepped back. The guard in the middle held up a slip of paper. It had the numbers '553' on it. 553? What was 553? Shaun nodded and began to back up again.

"Shaun, what are you _doing_?" Lacrima asked.

"Security protocol." He said.

Eventually he found what he was looking for, a small rectangle with the number '553' painted in white on the ground. Shaun pulled forward, and waited.

Waited.

None of us made a sound, especially when there were armed guards not fifty feet away from us.

Something below us whirred, and we began to sink.

* * *

_Mwahahahahaha review._


	32. Teaser the First

A/N: Hey! This is The Elven Spear speaking. Due to Lolcats's extended hiatus, I've taken the outlines for the story and written some teaser scenes. Read, speculate, cry in a corner, do whatever it is you do when reading fanfiction, just DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!!

Disclaimer: Okay, seriously. It's, like, chapter 32 already!! DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO OVER THIS AGAIN?! NO.

* * *

Lolcats-r-Hot and The Elven Spear present…

**TEARDROP BUREAU**

-Teaser Trailer 1-

(Trailer by The Elven Spear)

* * *

Altair stared at the dark, cloudy sky. He stood beneath an overhang in the car-park STFU was located. The wind gently caressed his face, cooling his brow in the damp, heavy air.

"Altair?"

He turned. Lacrima was walking towards him.

"Lacrima."

"What's up?" she asked, standing beside him.

"I am making peace."

"What?"

"Today, many people will die.

People with families.

People with lives.

People who are doing nothing more than their job.

People will die, many by my hand, and I must live with the consequences of my actions.

Have you ever killed someone, Lacrima? I doubt it. Killing a guard is nothing like killing a high value target. Killing a target means you've accomplished something for the greater good. Killing a guard is nothing more than the slaughter of an innocent human being loyal to their master. A human being who, at the very least, is honorable in that respect."

"What's it like?"

"You can't describe it. The way the light fades from their eyes, their blood splattering your body. It is horrible. Only the most deranged man would feel pleasure from the act of killing an innocent human being."

"And so you make peace."

"And so I make peace.

I make peace with the dead.

I make peace with the soon to die.

I make peace with the living.

And I make peace with myself. That the actions I am about to undertake all for a greater good. That they are born out of necessity, not impulse. Out of duty, not leisure. That many die so that many more may live."

Quietly, gently, it began to rain.


	33. The Calm Before

_Here's the dealio._

_I live. There. It's a fact. I liiive. Online, I mean. This whole thing where I was away for two months, that's a thing of the past. I'm not going to get my computer taken away EVER again. That is my promise to you. And that is a promise to myself. I take it that you're all a bit pissed (To The Elven-Spear, I'm eternally indebted; my soul is yours) but I'm trying to rebuild. Also, because of some recently confused readers (coughcough I'm not naming anyone) I've decided to put POV symbols over each break. Happy now?  
_

_This is my favorite story. I plan to finish it, through and through. I plan to make it stretch outwards, upwards, and in any direction the story points to._

_Plan to expect things. Plan ahead. Anticipate. I'm not saying this will never happen again, and I'm not saying it will. Fate is a funny thing, you know?_

_…_

_I'm totally just babbling, aren't I?_

_Whatever. ENJOY THIS STORY, OR DIE TRYING._

**Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed does NOT belong to lolcats-r-hot. No matter how much people want her to, so she can do a collaboration of Cooking Mama and Assassin's Creed 2.**

* * *

LACRIMA POV

"Ow! God, how many more?" Altaïr shouted at the nurse. The nurse looked down, and behind his back, at the waiting syringes. There were only about three more, but Altaïr didn't know this. He had to get them one at a time. Vaccinations hadn't been invented until about a hundred years after Altaïr's time, so he had to get used to them fast.

"It's only necessary, Altaïr. You haven't become immune to diseases like these yet. Your body is still made for the twelfth century." The frightened nurse came back up to him, his hands shaking. I _tsk_ed him and took the syringes from his hand. "You're going to hurt him, dude." I said, rolling up Altaïr's sleeve. He'd been given a different set of clothes. Not assassin robes, but clothes that made him look less conspicuous. I injected the needles slowly, like I was taught to do when my mother was diagnosed with diabetes and I had to give her insulin shots when she couldn't bear to do them herself.

"You're not authorized to do that—" the nurse began to protest.

"Then don't tell anyone. Give me a Band-Aid, will you?" I said, removing the needles from Altaïr's bicep and throwing them in the hazardous waste basket. The nurse gave me a large beige strip of paper and I unwrapped it, sealing it across Altaïr's dotted arm. "There," I said. "All better."

"I…I recommend getting a pain reliever and some sleep meds from the pharmacy…I'll have the doctor write you a note…" he scampered out of the room, leaving me and Altaïr alone.

"Are you okay?" I asked, rubbing his arm. He winced a bit but kept his composure.

"I'm fine. How are you? I can't believe what they did…" I felt him slide his hands up the sides of my neck to my face, where he stroked the bandages and scars with his thumbs. I averted my eyes, trying to find a distraction. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault." He said, leaning his forehead against mine.

"How could it be? I'm the one who scampered off like that. I'm the one who got us all caught." I almost added, _Desmond too_, but decided against it once Altaïr hugged me to his chest.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight." He said to my neck, the low vibrations of his voice sending a shiver through my spine. He pulled me back and sighed once. "What are we going to do with your hair?" he played with the blue strands between his fingers.

"I'll just dye it back, and grow it out again." I said with a shrug, playing it off like it was no big deal.

"I don't know…I sort of like this blue…" he held it up in a loop to my face, so it brushed my eyes slightly. "Ah, it's almost your color." He said, letting it go.

Right then, the nurse came back in with a slip of paper. He handed it to me and told be where to pick up the prescriptions for Altaïr. Written below it was a scar healing ointment for me. How thoughtful.

Altaïr walked behind me out of the infirmary, and all the way down to the pharmacist's. I ordered the prescription and looked around at all the OTC medicines we were taught were most addictive in high school. They were all lined up in neat little rows, their names printed in the same font on the side. All of them were generic, and mostly organic, by the looks of them. They were made underground. I was impressed.

Fifteen minutes later, the prescription was filled and I borrowed the pharmacist's phone to call Rebecca. The dialing system was easy: you'd dial the operator's number first. There was a private communications line for the Assassins, which meant their own satellite in space. You would tell the operator basic information like your city, and they would route it back to their servers, which told them if you were friendly or not. They would ask where you were calling, and they would connect you through. Like in the old days, before direct lines. I didn't know if there was a way to dial direct lines, and just skip the operator, but I told myself I'd ask Rebecca or Shaun later.

"Hello?" Rebecca asked once we were patched through.

"Hey, it's us." I said. "Can you come pick us up at the pharmacy?" Altaïr began reaching for something on the shelf—condoms. "Don't touch those!" I hissed under my breath. He stood up straighter, and looked around elsewhere. I could still see him from across the store.

"I'll be right there." She hung up and I gave the phone back to the pharmacist. His name was Rodger Karat. I thanked him and went over to stand by Altaïr.

"Hey." I said. "Rebecca is going to pick us up in a few."

"A few what?" he asked, perplexed.

"…minutes?" I asked, trying to see if he'd connect the meanings. He nodded his head and looked over the various toothbrushes and dental care products on the shelf.

"I'm sorry, but what in the world are these?" he asked quickly, pointing to a pink toothbrush on the shelf.

"Dental care. They clean your teeth." I stated. He nodded, and discreetly backed away.

"Hey. There you are. Let's go." Rebecca said, giving us less than three seconds to follow her, or be stuck in the pharmacy forever.

We followed her back to the house at a quick pace, because there were less people than before. It must be the equivalent of night here. Suddenly the house was in view, and we went inside, where Shaun was reading some book in French. "_Bon jour._" I said, walking past him, and up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Rebecca said, one hand on the doorjamb of the Animus room.

"To sleep." I said, before disappearing into my room.

When I dreamed that night, I dreamed again of Jerusalem.

* * *

_I was finally ready to go. We were going to leave the city at sunrise, and we'd head south, into rebel territory and away from Templars and Assassins alike. He woke me when it was still dark, and we shared a quick kiss before we exited the Bureau, sprinting across unmanned rooftops until we reached the southern gates. He took my bag and told me to get two horses from the stables. I did as he said and got a white mare and a black stallion. The stallion was taller than me, but kind. He let me lead him out, and when I told him to stay, he did. I got the other horse out, and by that time, my partner came back. He praised me on the choices of horses and I smiled, getting on mine._

_By the time the sun rose, we were already fifty miles outside of Jerusalem, and we were not far from the rebel border. We slowed only to eat quickly and to give the horses a break. We would sleep at sunset._

"_We'll stop here for the night. I'll go gather some firewood. Can you find a place for the horses to graze?" he asked. I nodded once and did as I was told. I had written a letter to my father, explaining what we were doing. It was written in code, because if someone were to read its real meaning aloud, we would be caught by the time we were ready to leave._

_A couple of minutes later, he returned with two armfuls of sticks and branches in his hands. His robes were turning gray. I would have to wash them when we stopped permanently. He started a fire and we dined on bread and water. I slept close to him that night, finally content that we were together, at last._

I woke up groggily, under the impression that I was still under a clear, starry sky, sleeping on soft grass with warm arms around my waist. Only the last part was true. I rolled over in Altaïr's arms, snuggling closer to him. He was warm, very warm. I sighed and tried to slip back to sleep, but I found I couldn't. I began rubbing Altaïr's muscles in his arm. They'd be sore when he woke up. The bandages were rough under my hands, but at least the blood was circulating.

I soon became restless and I untangled myself from Altaïr. I remember the last time I'd tried to do this, he'd been awake and I'd nearly jumped out of my skin. But this time, the drugs were doing their job and he was sleeping like a log. I thought I could see a bit of drool coming out the side of him mouth. I smiled a bit and went downstairs.

Rebecca was in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee like it was the last one on the planet. When I asked if it was, she said, "No. There's a pot. Coffee is one of the most expensive things you can get here. I had to cut the merchant's daughter's hair like mine." She laughed, playing with the shaggy locks that hung by her face. "Well, kinda." We laughed together, and I poured myself a cup of coffee. "When are you gonna make another cake, Lacrima? We went out and got the flour, sugar, and stuff!" she opened a cabinet and showed me the things I'd need to make a chocolate cake. Instantly, recipes flowed through my mind.

"I'll make one today." I smiled.

"Awesome." She went out of the room, and I had to wait a second before I heard a very British "Yessss!"

I sipped my coffee.

* * *

DESMOND POV

When I walked downstairs, I saw Lacrima doing what she did best—making a cake. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her crack an egg. She had a bit of flour on her nose. The entire room smelled like flour.

"Was it Rebecca?" I asked. She looked over at me.

"What?" she asked.

"Was it Rebecca or Shaun that bullied you into making a cake?" she let out a chuckle and looked back at her work.

"How do you know I'm not just making one on a whim?" she started beating together a mixture of batter. I could smell faint traces of gas from the oven preheating.

"Because I know you too well." I laughed loudly and sat against the counter, watching her work.

"Oh, please. You're just in here so you can get on my good side, and have some cake before anyone else." I covered my heart with my hand, looking away dramatically.

"You wound me, Lacrima, with your cruel, cruel words!" I said, trying to remember where I'd heard it before.

"Whatever." She said, returning to her work. I exited the kitchen, and set to exploring the rest of the house.

I found the Animus room easily by the sounds of keys being typed, and Rebecca chattering in technical jargon. The next room over, the one closest to the bottom of the stairs, was a linen closet, where I found clean towels and toiletries. Upstairs were four rooms: mine and Lucy's, Rebecca and Shaun's, Altaïr and Lacrima's, and the sole bathroom. I found out quickly that the house was very, very boring. But Lucy had told me not to wander off anywhere, and I was doing just that. Ten points for self-containment. I wanted to ask Shaun if I could go down to the gym or basketball courts, but I already knew the answer. Out loud, I said, "No" in a very snobby British accent.

"No what?" somebody asked from down the hall. I whipped around. It was Altaïr. I calmed my breathing down a bit. It was still a hard reaction. He was _real_. Not just my imagination. He wasn't wearing much, save for a pair of loose jeans.

"I'm answering my own questions." I said slowly. I had wanted to use a word like "disambiguation", but I didn't really know what it meant so I kept to simpler words.

"Lucky you." He said, turning back to his room. I sighed and walked downstairs, legitimately bored. We were underground, with nearly half of America and God knows how many others after us. And I was _bored_. I scoffed and walked back into my room, and sat on the bed.

I'd need a chaperone to the exercise facility, and even then, I didn't know anybody there. I wouldn't know what to do? Would I go to the fencing ring, to practice? Maybe to the gym, to lift weights? Or even the basketball courts, if people could stop gawking at me. I sighed, giving up. I would probably just go bug Lacrima for an hour or two, until I was needed in the Animus. I got up, and walked down the hall and down the stairs. I turned the corner into the kitchen and caught the sight of Lacrima kissing and embracing Altaïr. I felt my eyes widen, and I walked right back out.

* * *

ALTAIR POV

I put on a shirt that I'd found on top of the dresser in the room, and I walked downstairs. Desmond was acting strange lately. He was talking to himself, he was acting really paranoid, though he obviously couldn't tell. I went downstairs and deposited myself on the counter next to where Lacrima was working, obviously on a cake.

"How are you?" she asked, still concentrating. A strand of blue hair fell in front of her eyes, and she didn't bother to push it out of the way.

"I'm fine. My arm's a little sore, but it's nothing." In fact, I could barely move my arm. I didn't want to worry her.

"Good." She replied, smiling up at me while mixing a brown batter. It smelled amazing.

"Did Rebecca pressure you into doing this?" I asked, and she laughed out loud. She leaned back and wiped a bit of flour off of her nose with her sleeve. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upwards.

"Desmond just asked me the same thing." She laughed, turning her full gaze on me. I gave up, smiling. I leaned forward, pulling her close. "We have to leave, sooner than later. The Templars are planning something. I know it." She sounded agitated.

"We're going to be fine. It'll all work out, Lacrima. It always has, and it always will." I heard someone coming down the stairs, but before I had time to let go of Lacrima, she had kissed me, her warm lips soft and gentle. Someone walked by the kitchen, and away, but I had my eyes closed.

She broke the kiss, and looked into my eyes. "Thank you." She whispered.

* * *

DESMOND POV

A couple of hours later, Lucy came back from her travels in the city. She had a basket full of food, a few books, and a sheet of paper. She put the basket in the kitchen, the books in the Animus room, and held onto the paper. She called us all into the living room, where Lacrima was already sifting through for a cookbook she had requested from Lucy. "Everybody sit down please." Lucy said, and we sat.

"I have some news. I just spoke with the Grand Master in the castle. He gave me this to tell you.

"Brothers and sisters," it began. "This is a time of darkness, not only for us, but for everybody in the world. Not many know about us, as you all know, but some are beginning to see. On December 21st, Abstergo will launch a satellite holding a Piece of Eden into space. They seek to control the planet. All who oppose…" Lucy swallowed. "Will die. But, since you have made the right choice in coming here, to the city, we can discuss our strategy for keeping this from ever happening." Lucy looked uncomfortable. "Tomorrow morning, I will meet with you all, and we will discuss what we know. Sincerely, Alexander McCoy, Grand Master." Lucy looked up at us all.

"We've seemed to make an impression." I said, leaning back on the wall.

"Why would he need _us_?" Lacrima asked, her eyes swiveling to the kitchen for a second.

"Because we have a time-traveler, an ancestor of said traveler, and…well, another ancestor." I could tell Shaun had wanted to say "baker", but he had refrained from doing so. I gave him a look.

"That still doesn't tell me why we're here."

"Can't we just let the old man tell us? I can't process this right now." Shaun said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his temples.

"We should all get some rest. We've got a lot of work starting tomorrow." Lucy said, before leaving the paper on the table and going upstairs. Lacrima and Altaïr disappeared into the kitchen, while Shaun and Rebecca took to the Animus room. I was left alone in the living room in a matter of ten seconds. I sighed, and stretched out on the couch, closing my eyes in unearned exhaustion.

* * *

_Grr I personally think it's somewhat boring, but don't tell me if you share my thoughts._

_Tell me is you disagree, though!  
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	34. The Prophecy, pt 2

_This story liiiiives! Haha I love this story, but I''m totally lagging in motivation and...well, MOTIVATION! My other story, Anticipation (whoo hoo!) has like, TWICE the page hits as this story, and there's less than HALF of the number of chapters! So, for courtesy, I ask you to reload your page say...five times after you've reviewed._

**Disclaimer: Ugh. Really? My beta was right. I shouldn't do this. I'm running out of witty things to say. Should I risk having this story pulled?**

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**No. I DON'T OWN ASSASSIN'S CREED OR IT'S AFFILIATES. OR CHARLIE CHAPLIN. OR GERMANY. Though Ludwig from Hetalia is smexy... ;D  
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LACRIMA POV

I hummed a bit of a song I barely knew the words to as I watched the cake cool off. The song was called 'Smile', but I had no intention of doing just that. Altaïr watched me from his spot on the counter. "What is that?" he asked, inquiring about the song.

I stopped humming. "My mother used to sing it to me when I got upset or sad. I can barely remember the words now." I laughed for no reason. I blew on the cake, but any baker knew that this was a fruitless task. I was just bored, and tired. I'd spent all day on my feet, making one cake for Rebecca and Shaun, lunch, dinner, and then this cake. I felt Altaïr hop down from the counter, and he wrapped his arms around my waist. I smiled and leaned back, reveling in the moment. He was so _warm_. I brought my hand up to his cheek, my thumb skimming the fringes of his long hair. He pressed his face into my hand. "I like your hair long." I mumbled.

"Why are you upset?" he asked, ignoring my remark. I thought about why he had asked that. Was I humming the song because I was upset, and it calmed me down? I came up with a simple answer, for there were many things upsetting me at the moment.

"I feel like I should be doing something _more_, instead of just sitting around, making food for people." I sighed loudly, picking at the peeling paint on the table. "I feel like I'm being used."

It was true. In the entire time that I'd been in this new world, all I'd been doing was weighing the others down, like extra baggage. All I'm good for is my ancestors' memories.

"That's not true." Altaïr said, spinning me around in his arms. He made me look at him, though for once, I didn't want to. "You're so much more than that. You're so much more to me than you know." His words were confusing. This entire day was confusing.

"I don't understand anything you're saying, Altaïr." I felt him sigh.

"I think your cake is cooled." He said, letting me go. He had abruptly dropped the subject, and this upset me in a way that I needed my mom. Not just wanted, but _needed_. She would know exactly what was going on, and she would know exactly what to say to me. I turned around and got a knife from a nearby drawer. I sliced two pieces for us, a smaller one for me, as was usual. "I think we should go down to the combat ring sometime." He said, waffling the subject yet again.

"Why? I'm horrible, I don't know the first thing about swords—" something was moving towards my head at an unnatural speed. I caught the knife a sheer inch before it buried itself in my skull. I stared at it, my mouth agape, and staring incredulously at the piece of sharpened metal. I looked up at Altaïr. He was standing there, eating his cake, a triumphant smirk on his face. I felt my body surge with adrenaline that I didn't need, and I stabbed the wooden table with the knife. "What the #!*% was that?" I shouted, getting up in Altaïr's face. "You could've _killed_ me!" so much for "you mean so much to me". Hmph.

"But I didn't. You have skills you won't acknowledge. I was testing my theory." He said, going for another slice of cake.

"What if you were wrong?" I asked, feeling my nose sting. I rubbed at it.

Desmond walked in. He looked worried. "Is everything okay in here?" he took a look at the knife in the table, at my red nose and watery eyes, and Altaïr's indifference, and started scowling at his ancestor. "Altaïr?"

"Everything's fine." He set the empty plate in the sink and left the room. I sat in the chair, covering my mouth and nose with my hand and closing my eyes. Desmond took the seat at the corner, and he held my other hand.

"He threw a _knife_ at me. Because he was 'testing a theory'." I said, scoffing. I wiped away some of the tears that had escaped. I looked up at Desmond, trying to smile. "But I caught it, thank God."

"How the #!*% did you do that? I mean, it's _Altaïr_. He can throw a knife faster than anyone I've ever seen."

"That's not helping." I said. I dramatically gasped in realization. "You know what we should do?" I whispered. "We should go to the combat ring!" I said with a fake smile. Desmond, clueless as he was, smiled and agreed.

* * *

DESMOND POV

Something was up with Lacrima. I didn't know what, but whatever it was, it was making her insanely bent on going to the combat ring. I knew I sucked royally (it showed when I was sparring against Altaïr back in the safehouse), and Lacrima was more than "a little good". Maybe she just needed a distraction. Who am I to ever question a woman? When I was a bartender, I remember all the girls would waver on their drinks, most of them not even up to drinking anything. So _that_ was why Jord, my old boss, had kept the bottles of brown soda in the back…

I shook myself from my reminiscing. I just forced a smile and agreed with Lacrima. "Do you know where Lucy is?" she asked. Her eyes were wide. I leaned back in my chair.

"Are you okay…?" I asked, tilting my head to the side some.

"I'm just _peachy_." She responded, with a scary little giggle. She was reminding me of this one movie where this orphan was totally demented and would torture any parent coming to adopt them. I stole a nervous glance at the knife embedded in the table.

"She's upstairs." Before I could blink, she was carrying the plate of cake out of the room. "But she might be asleep, you shouldn't—" but she was gone. I heard her footsteps retreating to the second floor. I kicked the chair back, and stood up. Letting out a sigh, I ran my hands through my hair. It was about to my ears now. It had never been this long, even when I'd left the compound I'd been taking a serrated knife to it. Some girls had said it gave me a "badass" look. Of course, they were seven drinks down and were flirting because it was a bachelorette party. "Women are stupid." I laughed.

"You wanna repeat that, Desmond?" Rebecca had walked in at that exact moment. A phrase ran through my head that a patron had said in the bar (why am I thinking so much about the #!*% _bar?_): _the probability of being seen directly correlates to the stupidity of one's actions._

"Sorry. Thinking out loud." Of course, this didn't do anything to help me, only earning me a punch in the shoulder. #!*% , Rebecca was strong. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Were you an assassin your entire life?" I asked, rubbing my shoulder.

"Nope. I wasn't born into it like you were. I stumbled upon it, like Shaun did. I really owe my life to Lucy. She was also born into it. I was about sixteen or seventeen, I can't remember now. Some #!*% was going to ram me with his car, but Lucy managed to slit his throat and get rid of him before I could die. He ended up smashing into a tree, but Lucy was out of the car in under three seconds. I had stopped my car in the middle of the street and, stupid me, I'm running over to this thirteen-year-old with a bloody switchblade, asking if she was alright!" she starts laughing, and I try to tag along, but you must've had to be there. "She tells me, 'back off, lady!' and starts running off down the street, disappearing into the crowd. The next day, this dude arrives at my house, with his hand on Lucy's neck, and her face is all red." My eyes widen. I couldn't imagine Lucy like that. "This dude was scary, and he had the Spock Grip on her neck. She was scared, I could tell, and embarrassed, and she was like, doing this weird fidgety thing with her bracelet." Rebecca gestured to her wrist. "The dude says," she lowered her voice considerably. "'My name is Gary Hendricks. Can I come in?' and I look down at Lucy, and she shakes her head a tiny bit. I tell him no, and he's all 'It'll just be a minute' and I have no choice because this crazy dude is already storming my house, with Lucy right beside him."

"Why didn't you just close the door?" I asked.

"This dude was _huge_. Like, linebacker huge. So, he takes a seat on my couch and motions for me to sit. I'm still in high school, and my parents were both gone for two weeks. Lucky me." She sipped the coffee. "Not that bad." She commented before continuing. "So, I'm standing up, about ten feet from the door, and Lucy and Gary are sitting on my couch. All I'm thinking is 'call the cops, call the cops, call the cops'," I laugh. "But he's two feet from the phone. I felt really nervous. He tells me he's not gonna hurt me, and tells me to sit down again. I say to let go of Lucy. He sighs, and we both comply. Then he tells me about the Assassin Order, and about how the Templars are trying to take over, all that jazz. This is 2001, a couple of years before Abstergo was established. You wouldn't remember, because you were in the Assassin Compound on the plains west of the Appalachians,"

"We had radio." I interjected, but she was so into what she was saying that she ignored me like I hadn't spoken.

"So he explains to me who he is, and he's apparently the head of operations in Chicago, where I'm from. Lucy is a junior agent, and she wasn't supposed to be out in the field. That was why she looked so embarrassed, because she was caught. Gary explained to me that she would have to be discharged from the Order, and by discharged, I mean," she made a slicing motion with her thumb across her throat. I felt myself tense in horror. "I wouldn't have it. I started yelling at the dude, saying how this was illegal and stupid and wrong and all this other stuff. I yank Lucy up beside me before the man can react, and I take the vase on the coffee table, holding it up like I'd hit him with it. He's all calm and relaxed. He says 'Lucy knows what she was getting into. She's admitted that much to us.' I whirl on Lucy. 'You don't want to die, do you?' and she shakes her head no. Then I'm all, 'See? She doesn't want to die. Are you even human to begin with?' and I'm wondering what the _ #!*% _ I'm saying. Lucy says from behind me, the first time she's spoken, 'Gary, I won't do it again. Why did you even take me here in the first place? You've made everything a mess, again.' And the Gary person says, 'You were the one who said that we needed a better getaway driver.'" She starts laughing, and I'm standing there, chuckling awkwardly.

Shaun chose that moment to walk in, thank God. I pleaded at him with my eyes to _get her out of here_. Gladly without a sarcastic comment, he led her away by pushing her by the small of her back. I looked through the cabinets for something to eat. Nothing but cooking ingredients. Fun. I felt jumpy. I took the knife out of the table (it was buried _deep_ in the wood) and set it in the sink. I was restless, and I didn't know what to do. Maybe it was a good thing I was going to the combat ring, if Lucy would let us leave at all. I remembered the vision the old lady in the market had shown me, repressing a visible shiver.

Lacrima practically _bounded _into the kitchen, her cheeks pink and her face lively. She had changed into shorts and a tank top. "Well?" I asked, noticing the cake was gone. #!*% , I'd wanted some of that.

"Lucy said we could go!" she was bursting with joy, though some of it was obviously forced, by the way her grin was too big and too…shiny. She had actually brushed her teeth? Come to think of it, I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually had a nice long shower. The prospect of this sounded heavenly, but I wanted to find out what was going on with Lacrima. "Go change, silly buns, you're not training in jeans and a sweatshirt!" she pushed me out of the kitchen and up the first eight stairs, before jogging down to the first floor. I had walked to the front of my door before I realized something.

"Silly buns?"

* * *

ALTAIR POV

I resisted the urge to slam the door to my room. Scoffing, I sat down on the bed, only to stand right back up again. This was getting ridiculous. My restlessness was getting to me, and I could feel my muscles tingling with disuse. Unfortunately, we were all being quarantined inside the house, so the most exercise I could get was walking around the house, and I _definitely_ didn't want to do that, when there were other people in the house. I heard someone open a door across the hall from me. I recognized Lucy's voice, but not the other. Probably nothing.

I left the room to take a shower in the bathroom. I noticed there was a plain blue bottle sitting on the edge of the shower. I opened the cap, and smelled it testingly. It smelled clean and fresh. I started the shower, and stepped in as it was warming up. I was glorified in the heat. We didn't have this in my time. We bathed in the cold river, washing with rough lye soap. I washed myself of the dirt that had accumulated through the month, feeling it slip away. My hair was surprisingly filthy, though I have no idea why. It was getting long, almost to my eyes. I had to flip it out of the way some times. It was annoying. Maybe later I'd hack it off with a knife, like I'd always do.

_I like your hair long._

Her voice rang clearly inside my head, and I had to peek around the shower curtain to make sure she wasn't in the room with me. Unfortunately, she wasn't, so I went back to washing myself.

A door opened and closed from underneath my feet. I wondered who was here, or who was leaving.

Probably Lucy.

* * *

LACRIMA POV (WARNING BAD RUSSIAN ACCENTS AHEAD...THANKS ELVEN)

"I am Rakminov. I am swordsmaster here." A gruff-looking Russian man in his late forties walked up to me and Desmond. I saw Desmonds' eyes widen at the sheer _size_ of the man. I was thinking the same thing, though along the lines of 'how on earth could that man hold a sword without crushing it in his palm?'

"Nice to meet you." I said, in an attempt to break Desmond's shocked stare. He was a good foot and a half under the man, and I was a half-foot under Desmond.

Raknov turned his stare down to me. "You must be Lacrima." He said with a chuckle. "Lucy has told me all about you." I immediately became defensive.

"I certainly hope not." Rakminov only laughed again. Desmond was still frozen in place.

"She say you have skill with longsword, and… experience with ze shortsword." He gave me a sly smile before swiveling his massive head to Desmond, who seemed to shrink in fear. "Ahh…Desmond." He said, sizing him up. There was something familiarizing about the stares he was giving him.

"Yes, sir." Desmond said, his voice returning to normal, but not without a trace of unsteadiness.

"Ve will make do vit you. _Edee sooda_!" he yelled in Russian, meaning 'come over here'. Mary had taken a class in Russian (the teacher _was_ hot, I have to admit) and had taught me a couple of things.

Mary. I shook the thought from my head.

Rakminov was standing next to what seemed like an armory. It had swords and knives in it of all shapes, sizes, and uses. I recognized a few of the extendable sabers that I had used in the safehouse. "This is vhere ve store ze weapons. I have ze only key." He pulled out a shiny metallic key from around his neck, and waved it around before putting it back under his shirt. He went over and pulled out two extendable sabers, throwing the longer one at Desmond, and the shorter one at me. I weighed it in my hand, finding the point of balance almost instantly. Desmond was holding it like it might bite him. Raknov sighed. "Ve vill have lots of work to do…"

An hour later, I was observing Desmond get torn to bits by one of Rakminov's apprentices. He had sweat pouring down his body. I hadn't even gone in the ring once, and I doubted coming here in the first place. I had been shouting out things at him, things that he wouldn't abide by, in his masculine nature. Soon, Desmond had been thrown to the ground yet again, tripped by the other man's sword. Desmond rolled over, standing up with a loud groan. He picked up his saber from a few feet away, for it had been discharged from his grip a couple of minutes ago.

"Lacrima." The voice boomed over the ring. I jumped off the fence in surprise, kicking up some dirt in the process. "I believe it is your turn." Rakminov was on the other side of me, his massive body shouldering me into the ring. I nodded my head, vaulting myself over the fence with ease. "Unsheathe your weapon and do exactly as I say." He said, and I did. "Lay your weapon down on the ground, and close your eyes." I did as he said. The only thing I heard was Desmond breathing heavily on the other side of the ring, and the town less than a mile away. "Now I'm going to do exactly what I just did, but you must open your eyes, and not flinch." His thick, Russian voice commanded, and I opened my eyes.

In a matter of seconds, Rakminov had picked up my sword, and started to swing it towards my face. I felt my eyes widen, and I gasped, taking a half-step back. Rakminov lowered the saber, and a warm smile encompassed his face. "You must learn self control and heighten your reflexes so your reaction will be limited, if any." He spoke like a wise man. "You learn through your spirit, but you teach through your heart, _Krima_."

"What does that mean?" I asked, inquiring about the learning and teaching part.

"It means that you must know your deepest strengths to reach your fullest potential." He said, smiling. "The first lesson I can teach you is to know your weapon."

Stubborn as I was, I said, "How do you know a piece of metal?" Desmond choked on something from the side of the ring.

"Wielding a sword is not a physical thing. It is spiritual. Why do you think you flinch when I seem to strike at you?" it was a stupid question, and I was frustrated.

"Because I don't want my dang head cut off!" This made Rakminov laugh.

"I will not 'cut your dang head off'. I will teach you how to, but I will not inflict it on you, _Krima_." There was a silent '_unless I have to'_ added on to Rakminov's sentence. Which came with everything.

Another hour passed by and Desmond suggested we leave. I was getting a little bit hungry, admittedly, and I was going to pass out with so much theory about swordsmanship stuffed into my head. While Desmond went to put our retractable sabers away, I asked Rakminov a question. "How come you only made me have the theory lesson?" I crossed my arms as he stepped outside the ring.

"Because I already taught it to him, over a decade ago." And with that, Rakminov walked off. I stared after him in shock before I decided to vault myself over the fence again, walking over to the armory.

"How come you didn't tell me you knew him?" I demanded of Desmond. He was drinking from a water bottle, but he kept one eye on me. Once he'd drained the bottle and thrown it away in the trash, he answered me.

"Didn't think it was necessary." And he began to walk off.

"My entire goal today was to get out and work myself until I collapsed from exhaustion." When I saw the devious look on Desmond's face, I rolled my eyes and said, "_Away_ from Altaïr."

He started laughing, and he said, "There's plenty of fish in the sea, _Krima_." He mocked Rakminov, stepping ahead of me. The streets were almost empty by now.

"Don't even use that on me." I said, shaking my head.

"I was just joking!" he said to my dour tone. We turned a corner and Desmond groaned at something.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Can we walk another block around?" something was bothering him, but it seemed irrational. I scanned the street. Was Shaun out there?

"Why? The house is right there!" I pointed to the door, a couple of feet away from an old lady sitting on a stool.

"Exactly. So is she." Desmond pointed to the woman on the stool. I gave him a Look.

"Seriously? It's some old _hag_, she's not going to bite you!" I said, walking down the street. But as I did, I felt the familiar sense of uneasiness that I got when I walked into a dark room and I couldn't find the light. Desmond was following me, albeit closely, so I felt some comfort from his presence.

I tried to ignore the woman as I made my way to the door. But who can really ignore the trilling, ear-piercing voice of a madwoman? Especially when she was shrieking, "Stay safe, child! The darkness is close to your heart! Closer than you think!" I wanted to tell her off, but I just ignored her and walked through the door.

"See, Desmond, not as hard as it—" It was then that I realized _Desmond wasn't there_. "Des?" I asked, looking around me, to see whether or not he had passed me up while I wasn't looking.

Against my better judgment, I walked outside, and lo and behold, there was Desmond, kneeling down by the old woman. No wonder it was so quiet. I noticed her hand was on his shoulder, and his eyes were closed. I stalked forward, and I asked, "What the #!*% are you doing?" in a hiss.

"He is receiving The Prophecy. It is best you do too." The old hag was freaking me out, but when she held her hand out to me, I gently rested my hand in hers.

A jolt of energy, much like when I got 'pulled into' the Animus at Abstergo, and my eyes fluttered shut as my mind projected a brilliant light.

* * *

The air around me was shimmering with gold, and it would've been beautiful if it weren't for the fact that the population of the world was enslaved. They all walked in rows and columns, side-by-side, shackled by their own minds. I could see some people I recognized: Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy. They were all walking mindlessly toward a huge pit of fire, where charred ashes and bones were piled high. I wanted to call out to them, but my mouth was unable to move. I felt tears flow down my face as I looked over to my left, where a stony-faced Desmond was adorned with strange clothes and jewelry. Then I realized that it wasn't jewelry he was wearing: they were shackles. A great red cross had been burned into his chest, the flesh around it charred and bleeding somewhat.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a white loose-fitting dress that resembled a toga, tied together at my waist and by my ankles, where the fabric gathered together. I, too, was wearing shackles.

I looked to my right. There was Altaïr. I wanted to ask what was going on, and why our friends were being sent to their deaths. But all I could to was stare at the way he wielded the Templar cross and sword proudly. A whip was hanging on his hip. What was this? I looked behind me. A man shrouded in darkness sat on a throne, a blonde woman at his left. I recognized her as Audrey Jacobs, the assistant to Alan Rikkin, a higher-up at Abstergo. The man must've been Rikkin. Behind them was the Templar cross, backed behind the Abstergo logo on a white flag.

"Slave. Bring me my wine." This was Rikkin who had talked. I wasn't sure of who he was speaking to, so I didn't move. I looked over at Desmond, who was pleading at me with his eyes. "Slave! Wine!" he barked, and I had no idea what was going on.

"He said to get the wine!" something growled. Something lashed against my back, and I fell to the hot stone ground. I flipped over onto my back to see who had hit me. Unbelievably, it was Altaïr. I felt tears slipping from my eyes. What was going on? I heard screams over the walls as a great burst of flame launched itself into the sky.

The scene changed, and I sensed that we were going backwards. We were in a field, guns pointed at us as we were forced to watch as a rocket ship flew up into space. There were tears on Lucy's face, and Rebecca's, as Desmond and Shaun held them, respectively. I crossed my arms in the cold December air, no one holding me.

We went backward again. We were in the back of a van, and there was lots of yelling. "This is YOUR fault!" they all screamed at me, and I just sat there, staring into the distance. _He's gone,_ was my only thought.

"How could you, Lacrima?" the voice was calmer, and filled with a deep sadness. It was Desmond.

Backwards and backwards I went. I slammed my fist down on a red button, despite the screams of "NOOOO!" that came from around me. I watched as the roof caved in on us.

Backwards. I was sitting in a room with a very old man, and he had asked me a question. "Yes." I had said, confident and full of smug pride.

"Lacrima, we need to talk." The voice of Altaïr resonated through the hall.

We were suddenly back in reality, and I was standing in front of the old woman, gripping her hand tightly. I opened my eyes, afraid of what I was going to see.

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_Woot bring on the prophecies!_

_I prophecize that you will review...then reload the page.  
_


	35. The Game is Afoot

Disclaimer: I shouldn't have to do this. You're all intelligent people! THE WEBSITE IS CALLED FOR GOSH SAKES! Is there REALLY any doubt WHATSOEVER that this Altair, Lucy, Rebecca, and the rest are my property?

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The old woman sat back on her stool, folding her hands in front of her, her expression satisfied and anxious at the same time. I pulled my hand back, my eyes still seeing the memories of what was to come. "I have shown you all I can, my children. It is up to you whether you will change your futures, but your past," she shifted her gaze to Desmond, who had stood up. "And present," she pierced me with her otherworldly gaze. "Are written in stone. Think of your actions before you execute them, and you will follow the right path. But hurry quickly; the future waits for nobody, and someone else will make your decision if you do not." Her words sank in slowly and eerily, like feet in quicksand.

"Thank you, Prophetess." Said Desmond, actually bowing. I felt it courteous to do the same, but settled with a polite nod, contrasting to Desmond's at-the-waist bow. He spun around, and gripped my elbow, leading me into the house without a word. Once we were inside, he kept steering me to the living room, where he sat me down, and squatted in front of me. "I need to ask you of something." He said, staring me in the eyes not unlike the woman outside. "Whatever you do, do not let this world come to that. If you do, I will kill you, and I will do it without mercy."

I jerked away from him, standing up. "You jerk! You think I want that? You think I want to see all of us like that? What are you thinking?" I scoffed and turned away from him, taking a step towards the kitchen on pure instinct. I then abruptly changed direction and stalked up the stairs, where I nearly ran into Altaïr.

I knew what he was going to say before he knew he was going to say it. "Lacrima, we need to talk." I let out a sigh, and steadied myself on a wall, my vision spinning. "Are you alright?" he asked, his hand touching my arm lightly. I pulled it away, and hand my fingers through my hair.

"I don't know! I don't know about anything right now! I'm just…so overwhelmed, by everything, and then I don't even know, just…just…" I felt my eyes spring tears as I remembered the almost enjoying face of Altaïr as he whipped me. That face wasn't the one in front of me, the concerned one that looked so out of place, in spite of everything I'd just seen. Altaïr saw my tears and pulled me toward him, stroking my hair.

"Shh. Shh…you're alright. Nothing's wrong." He murmured to me, gently dragging me into the room with him. I clutched onto his shirt for dear life. He lay me down on the bed, and faced me patiently until the tears died down and I was calm enough to start talking. "Tell me what is wrong." He said, and I smiled, my heart melting. He was finally listening.

After I heard the door close upstairs, I recollected on what the old lady had shown me.

I was yelling at Lacrima, tears running down my face. Tears I didn't even know I possessed. She looked so distant, and scared, like a lost puppy. But all I knew in that moment was anger. I couldn't even hear what I was saying, I was so angry. Then I stopped, and asked, "How could you, Lacrima?"

The scenes kept changing, something that made me sick. There was Lacrima, standing in a white toga with this helpless look on her face as she was whipped by Altaïr. I could barely think straight, with all of the pain shooting through my body with every beating of my heart. I felt a surge of despair as Lucy looked up from the crowd, finding my face among those on the balcony, and looking away. My heart seemed to die inside, sinking down to my feet until all I felt was sadness. The screams echoed in my head…the screams…the screams…

"Get yourself together, Miles." I muttered, beginning to pace. Why was I acting this way lately?

"Desmond? Are you okay?" a small voice asked from the foot of the stairs. I looked up. Lucy was holding a plate of cake awkwardly, staring at me, concernedly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I mumbled, sitting down on the couch, not facing her. I felt her move around to the other side of me. I tried to repress the warm feeling I got in my neck every time she was around.

"You don't look fine." She said, setting the cake down on the table. I heard something moving around upstairs, but ignored it quickly as Lucy rested her hand on my back. I looked up at her face, her bright blue eyes searching mine for a clue as to what was going on. "You should talk to me more. I'm able to help you, with anything." Her voice was genuine, but for some reason, I couldn't meet her eyes whenever she spoke. It was habitual.

"Lucy, I—" my sentence was cut off by her mouth on mine. My eyes immediately closed, and my body flared up with heat. Her hands had moved to the sides of my face, and they were hooked around the part of my jaw that was most square.

The kiss ended too quickly. Lucy's warm, soft lips drew away from mine, and I reluctantly opened my eyes, to stare into her brilliant blue ones. "And I mean, anything."

Lacrima was going to be the death of me. She started telling me about her going to the combat training ring, and I listened intently, memorizing her words. When she started telling me about the prophecy she had seen, and what I had done, I became defensive, stating I would never do something to hurt her. She said she believed me, and started explaining how horrible the future would be.

"We can change it. You know we can, and we will. I will not allow this to happen to everyone. I won't." I felt her sigh and curl closer to me. "I will never hurt you." I whispered to her as we fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning with Lucy in my arms, sound asleep. I don't remember having a dream, but the almost real prophecy still played in my head like a loud noise after a concert or someone shouting. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to hold the beautifully warm body to my chest for all eternity, regardless of anything that happened to anyone. Screw it, I was being selfish.

But eventually Lucy got up as well, shaking her hair out of her eyes and blinking at the clock on the table. She stared at it for about three seconds before gasping, bolting out of bed and frantically throwing clothes on. "What's going on?" I asked, laughing at how frazzled she looked.

"Get up. Get dressed…in something nice. Please, brush your hair." After she had zipped up her pants and buttoned her shirt, she walked into the hall and banged on Altaïr and Lacrima's room. "Get up, get dressed! We're going to be late!" she shouted. I got up quickly, only clad in blue briefs and jeans.

"For what?" I asked, before I looked down. I was wearing Lucy's jeans. No wonder I couldn't pull them up past my thighs… "Lucy, you—ugh!" she was already downstairs. I hopped back in and started to take my pants off—her pants off. It sounded so weird in my head that I started laughing manically, falling to the floor as I lost my balance.

"Are you okay, Desmond?" Shaun asked from the hall. I had forgotten to close the door!

"The pants…they're going to cut off my circulation!" I laughed.

"Maybe you just got really fat in them." He said snobbishly. I rolled my eyes at him.

"You sound like a girl in the eighth grade." I crossed my arms over my chest. I didn't want to admit that these were Lucy's jeans. "They probably shrunk in the wash." I said, using the normal excuse.

"Desmond, have you seen any washing machines around here?" he asked, amused. He leaned against the doorway, sipping a steaming cup of tea. "Hurry up, the Grand Master is waiting for us." He began to walk away but I stopped him.

"Help me out? Please?" I asked, yanking the lowest part of fabric off of my poor leg.

Shaun gave me a long stare before sighing, setting his tea down on the floor. "But not a word of this to Rebecca, or anyone else, for that matter." He walked over to me, and sort of scratching my leg that I held up for him.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, trying not to laugh at him. He looked so weird.

"Making sure they're not glued on. And what the hell are you doing? You look like you're on the cover of a porn magazine!" he laughed in my face, and I sneered at him.

"Shut up. Lucy said we were going to be late anyways." I growled.

"Fine, fine." Shaun grabbed a hold of my leg and started pulling me.

"Watch it!" I shouted, keeping one hand on the bed and one hand on my underwear. Shaun had nearly pulled me off of the bed, and pulled not just the pants down.

"Sorry." He grunted, bracing himself against the floor. He grabbed the side of Lucy's waistband and tried to yank them down. "I think…you did get fat, Miles…"

"Shut up!" I shouted. "If anything, I starved!"

With a herculean tug, Shaun managed to pull them down to my knees, but pulled me with him. I shouted out as only my back was on the bed now. I heard something tip over and spill.

"Uh…" someone said from the doorway.

We froze. Altaïr and Lacrima were standing right there, watching with open mouths. I only imagined how this looked: Shaun with both hands on the waist of a pair of tight-tight pants, me propped up on the bed by my elbows, my face red from exertion. About two seconds of silence passed before they looked at each other and walked off without another word.

"Shit, shit, shit." Said Shaun. "This is all your fault, you little prick!" he shouted at me. I was just covering my face with my arms, groaning in embarrassment.

"That did not just happen." I moaned.

"I believe it did, mate. It's not what you think!" he shouted down the hall after them.

"Altaïr will never have kids after what he saw. I'm probably going to poof out of existence now…great. Damn it Lucy!" I shouted, wiggling off the rest of the pants.

"No, no, no. We're not going there." Said, Shaun, wiping up the spilled tea with the goddamn pants.

"Never planned to." I mumbled, before raiding Altaïr's room for a pair of pants and a shirt. I picked up a pair of jeans. They fit a bit loose—perfect, after what I just went through. I darted back into my room and slipped on my shoes and jogged downstairs. I looked up at Shaun when he asked what took me so long, dripping with sarcasm. "I was having a girl moment." To add effect, I used a fake lisp and 'flipped' my hair to the side, with a tiny scoff. Shaun was glaring at me when everyone laughed. Altaïr couldn't even look at me, which made me feel sick. I didn't want to be…nothing. I smirked anyway and looked at Lucy's pants. She looked like something out of a bad 80's music video.

"So, we're going to meet the Grand Master today, in…" she looked at the clock on the wall. "…precisely thirty minutes. We're discussing our invasion of the D.C. area, among other things that might've come to his attention." He was attempting to pull her hair back into a rubber band, but strands kept falling out. Her hands were shaking with an excess caffeine rush.

"Like?" asked Lacrima, finally speaking up. She was tapping her foot on the floor, fidgeting with her hands until Altaïr covered them with his own.

"I don't know. He's the Grand Master. I only met him once, yesterday. He seems like a very old-fashioned sort of guy, so we're going back to high school—no hand-holding, no chewing gum," a choke from Rebecca came in here, most likely her choking on her gum while trying to drink coffee, "Use the term 'sir', no slouching, speak when you're spoken to, and no cursing." She looked very serious about this, and we all nodded at her, in turn, with Rebecca visibly swallowing her gum. "Okay, let's go." Said Lucy, capping a travel cup on her coffee.

We exited the house and began our half-mile trek to the castle seconds after. My thoughts were burned with that image of Shaun and Desmond, about to…I didn't even want to know. I was doubting having children, knowing that this was to come.

But if I swear abstinence, then Desmond wouldn't exist, just like that. And I was too connected to Lacrima that I didn't even want to consider it.

Lacrima chattered nervously in my ear the entire way to the castle, and I provided nods and grunts of agreement when she paused for breath. I didn't fully tune her out, but I did happen to catch some of the words.

At one point she was talking about her parents, and how she and her sister were so torn apart when they died, and how her sister (the traitor) had said one time that they had "abandoned them" by living in such a horrible neighborhood but did Lacrima ever hear her complain about it? Nooo, she didn't. Nope, she remembers her sister coveting her room facing the west, so she could see the sun set, and how…

"Lacrima." I said, gripping her arm to make her concentrate. "Stop worrying yourself." We had fallen to the back of the group, and I stopped her, making her face me. Her eyes were clouded with anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"It's the coffee, it's nothing. I'm always like this." She gave a little laugh, but this only concerned me more. She never lied to me.

"That's not it. Is it…the prophecy?" I whispered, watching the rest of the group head further away.

"It's everything. I always have this feeling that something bad is going to happen, and too soon for me or Desmond to stop it." She looked like a helpless child I once saw in the slums of Jerusalem, holding her hands out for food. Most people only asked for money, so they could buy themselves hashish, but this child had tear-tracks down her grimy face, her eyes pleading with everything she was. I had stolen her an apple and she had practically bowed at my feet.

"Who said that you needed to do it alone?" I asked. "You have an entire group of people, waiting to hear what they can do to stop the end of this world. And you have me. Don't forget; I'm always right here for you."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with thanks and relief. "Altaïr, I—"

"Hurry up!" Shaun called from up the hill. I glared at him and turned back to Lacrima.

"What were you going to say?" I asked.

"It was nothing." She broke the grip I had on her arms and jogged up the hill. I followed suit, standing close to her.

When we went through the doors to the castle, an instant feeling of nostalgia swept over me, and I took in a deep breath. It even smelled like Masyaf. Lucy walked past me, and headed for the stairs, where a steady stream of people was going up and down between levels. I took up the back, following behind Shaun and Desmond. I wanted to stand between them.

When we arrived at the top, a loud, jovial voice exclaimed, "Miss Stillman!"

Lucy jumped from next to me, and her hands immediately went to her sides. I did the same, pushing mine into my pockets. In fact, the entire group seemed to rise about three inches, and their faces became a lot more somber than they normally were.

An enormous man sat behind a desk I recognized from Altaïr's memories, but just barely. I couldn't remember much after heading to Jerusalem, it's as if it was…erased. Anyway, back to the man. He was about a head shorter than me, and twice as wide as me. And this width was not muscle. In fact, I thought I saw a jar of candies on the desk—so out of place in a place like this. He had a serious face, though his brown eyes sparkled with a youth that everyone in our group had lost. Most assassins lost that in the first weeks of their training. I know I did. And this guy was the Grand Master. "It is nice to see you again on such short notice."

"As I to you, sir." She said, her head held high.

"Ah, don't act so formal!" He exclaimed, motioning for us to sit down on the couches in front of the desk. We separated from one another, me and Altaïr sitting on either side of Rebecca, and Shaun squished between Lacrima and Lucy. "So. You must introduce yourselves to me!"

"Desmond Miles." I said, speaking up first. The Grand Master gave me a nod, and moved on around the area.

"Rebecca Crane."

"Altaïr." The Master gave him a Look, and Altaïr narrowed his eyes, obviously not in a mood to trust people.

"Lacrima Bureau." I looked across the circle at her. Her attention was on Altaïr, but she was addressing the Master.

"Shaun Hastings." Shaun said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well, before we get down to business, I'd like to hear how on God's Green Earth Altaïr got into this time." He folded his hands, and sat forward, eagerly waiting for Altaïr or Lacrima to speak up.

"We don't know. There was a freak lightning storm in Boston a month or so ago, and a flash of golden light, and—"

"As far as I know, it was an act of God." Grunted Altaïr. I looked at him over Rebecca's head. The pair had never really talked about what had happened when Altaïr…arrived.

"He works in mysterious ways." I thought back to Ezio's last memory I went through, with Minerva and the Prophecy. Maybe it wasn't just the act of one God that had done this, but maybe a few.

"You look troubled, Mr. Miles." The Master said. I realized that everyone's eyes were on me.

"Uh…what about Those Who Came Before?" I asked, unsure if he was as updated as I thought.

"It is a possibility. And right you are."

"Who are Those Who Came Before?" asked Altaïr.

"Sentient beings from long before the history of man who were supposedly immortal gods until the human race revolted against them. Myths tell us that assassins were supposedly born from the offspring of them and humans. And that also, the rebellion was lead by the earliest Templars. We have evidence from Mr. Miles' ancestor, Ezio Auditore, in which Those Who Came Before had apparently died out, but not when or where."

"So they're…what are they?" asked Lacrima.

"No one knows. They seemed to be aware of time, but were otherworldly. We don't have anyone with ancestors that went back that far. But they did live over six thousand years ago. And they taught the humans to farm, how to speak, to write, to do many things." Lacrima sat back in her seat, impressed.

"But if they were dead for so many years, how could they have gotten Altaïr into the future without any harm done?" asked Shaun.

"It's just a theory, Mr. Hastings, but you, too, are correct. It's best we let things as they are. The good news is, that there is no hard done, and for that, I'm sure Altaïr is grateful."

Altaïr grunted.

As everyone else took their turns explaining the last month or so, I kept quiet, watching Altaïr watch the Grand Master. I saw that his hands were in fists at his sides, but this was covered up by the armrest. "Now, Miss Bureau." The Master said.

"Yes?" I asked, my long-term silence finally broken.

"I understand that your parents were killed in a fire nine months ago?" the sudden question staggered me, and I could only nod. "And your sister…?"

"Jasika." I said, a sudden memory Altaïr telling me what she had done in the van passed through my mind, and anger flashed through me.

"She's turned traitor?" he asked. I couldn't look at anyone around me. I nodded again. "Did she say anything…odd?"

"I don't know. I was unconscious." I said. Altaïr spoke up.

"She said that they needed everyone for something…they mentioned the man Vidic. She was next to a man who looked like Robert de Sable."

"That bald guy from my apartment?" I asked. Altaïr nodded. "But I thought I had killed him!"

"No. After you two had escaped, he appeared again. I assume it's because of a Piece of Eden." Said Lucy, nodding to us. I pursed my lips.

"Why are you asking?"

"Just asking. I'll explain later, when we have more time." He nodded and that was it. I gave him a stare not unlike Altaïr's, but then Shaun nudged me, to make me relax. "I believe that topic is done." The Master nodded and moved on. "Here's the objective…"

An hour and a half passed, with the Grand Master explaining how we were getting into the White House. We were to go in through the sewers to the kitchen. Once we were there, we'd climb in the air ducts and set off multiple smoke bombs. When our path to the Oval Office was set, we were to rush forward, and steal the Staff from the Templar Grand Master when we saw it. We weren't allowed to touch it with our hands, or we were bound to it. But the Grand Master was going to immediately die, and whoever took the Staff away had that life on their hands. I didn't want to go, but I didn't voice this.

"Aren't bombs a bit…I don't know, dangerous?" I asked, once we were starting to go into the escape plan.

"Yes, they are." The Master said, looking down at his desk, his eyes deep in thought. "Come to think of it, I had just thought they were necessary. Were we to just bomb the entire place, we wouldn't know the condition of the Staff or the Grand Master." I had been thinking of this for awhile, and I was finally going to show everyone what I was worth. "Did you have a better idea?"

Everyone in the room had their eyes on me. "Yes." I said, rather smugly, not knowing what I had just done.

(note: the following is a finish up written by the Beta, Elven-spear. It will probably depart drastically from Sono la Notte's own style. You have been warned)

"Do you remember back when they made pepper bombs for riot control?"

"Pepper bombs?" asked Lucy. "Those things are ancient! I remember learning about them in world history class. They used them for crowd control back when the US was more disfunctional then it was a puppet for Abstergo. Why do we need them?"

"You've never gotten peppers into your eyes, have you?" I asked. There was a round of blank looks. "It burns like hell! And if you breath it in, it hurts like someone took a hot coal and stuck it down your throat. With smoke, you'll just have people flooding out of the building. With peppers-.."

"We can disable them!" shouted The Master, jumping to his feet. "That's brilliant, Ms. Bureau! Pure genius!"

"I... don't... follow..." said Rebecca, voicing the thoughts of just about everyone but The Master and I.

"The active ingredient in peppers is called capsaicin oil," I explained. "Pepper grenades used extracted capsaicin oil in an aerosol spray. If we were to do something like throw several pounds of chili peppers into the furnace, we'd make cause the oil to float up on burnt particles of pepper and disperse across the building within minutes!"

"Think about it: the burning will cause intense pain, they'll be collapsing all over!" said The Master excitedly. "Then when they breath in the pepper smoke, they oil will burn their throats!"

"How is this different from a smoke grenade?" asked Desmond.

"They teach you to NEVER breath in chili pepper smoke for a reason," I replied. "Capsaicin oil closes up your wind pipe. Of course, we won't be using enough to kill everyone, that'd take way too much pepper to be useful. What it WILL do is make it nearly impossible for anyone to fight us without obscuring our vision."

"Which, of course, is essential if we want to get the staff as quickly as possible," finished The Master, sitting back in his chair. "Now, are there any objections?"

There was a round of silence.

"Good. The plan will go as previously outlined, but we'll substitute the chili peppers in for the smoke grenades. Altair, Lacrima, you two will be in charge of procuring the peppers. There should be some at Shipping and Receiving. Lucy, Desmond, I want you two to prepare the gear for field operations. Rebecca, Shaun, I want you two to prepare the electronics. Any questions? No? Good. Get going."

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Right then, Author's Note time.

Elven-spear here. Sono la Notte's computer managed to contract a virus. It's being repaired as we speak, but you know IT guys. Takes them three weeks to repair something. Anyway, she's got all her files in there and can't get them out, so I'm posting what she's sent to me for editing. Hopefully, I've managed to keep everything (plot, characters, etc.) in order. Thanks for your support, and REVIEW!

-ElvenSpear


	36. An Absurd Interlude

An Absurd Interlude

A Guest Chapter/Interlude/Ficlet thing by The Elven Spear, De Beta, for the fanfic "Tear Drop Bureau" by lolcats-r-hot

Disclaimer: In the interests of ensuring the non-suing of the authors, the disclaimer has been put here to inform you of the authors' non-owningness of anything resembling currently existing computer games, television, etc.

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When you go to the grocery store, you expect certain things. Above all else, you expect groceries to exist. Similarly, when you go to the shipping and receiving center of a large conglomerate called the Spice Trade Federation-United, you kind of expect them to have spices. Lacrima was similarly expectant when she walked into the building with Altair while they were prepping for the upcoming mission. As the cooking professional of the team, it had been decided that Lacrima would be responsible for the peppers. Altair was jus there because he was bored. Apparently, even an assassin could get antsy. You'd think that sitting for hours waiting for a target would give them resistance against that sort of thing, but…

THE AUTHOR DIGRESSES.

Moving on. So, Lacrima arrived at Shipping and Receiving expecting that chilli peppers would be available for imminent procurement.

"Good day, madame!" said the cheerful clerk from behind the counter. "What can I do for you?"

"I need fifty kilograms of Bhut Jolokia peppers," said Lacrima, walking up.

"Ah…," said the clerk, looking at his ledger. "It appears that we are… out of peppers of any kind?"

There was a collective blink.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," said Lacrima, gaping in dismay. "The SPICE Trade Federation, a company whose name contains the product they are selling, is out of chilli peppers?"

"Well, we have some jalapenos, but I don't think they'd fit your purposes."

Lacrima face-palmed.

"So, where can we get some?" asked Altair, looming darkly like the skanky hoe-bag he is.

"I'll just c-check the archives, shall I?" stuttered the Clerk, pointing at the computer plugged in nearby and laughing nervously. In a moment, he had pulled up a spreadsheet detailing the shipping details of chilli peppers for STFU.

"Ah, sir, I have it!" said the Clerk, showing him the manifest. Altair stared. Lacrima stared. Both face palmed.

"You want us to do WHAT?" asked Lacrima.

"You'll have to go to Mexico to retrieve the latest shipment if you want it before next week," said the Clerk, cheerful again. He handed them two cell phones and two miniature Bluetooth headsets. "Here are two of the new Abstergo uPhone 6Gs. They have all the relevant data and apps downloaded. We don't have any free personnel at the moment, so I'll guide you two through the process."

"You?" asked Altair, eyebrow raised. "You couldn't be fit to guide a virgin in their first intercourse."

"Altair!" scolded Lacrima.

"I'll have you know, sir, that I am a fully qualified field technician. The only reason I'm here right now is because I'm on leave from active duty to recover from a gunshot wound I received in the field."

"More like you shot yourself in the foot," muttered Altair.

"What was that?" asked Lacrima, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Nothing!" Altair replied, smiling like an angel.

An hour later, Altair and Lacrima were being driven through the Boston traffic snarl in a BMW. They were dressed in standard business casual wear, to alleviate suspicion. Altair protested that he would be recognized. The Armorer (for that had been where they had gotten their clothing) had snarked back that even his ugly mug was relatively normal in America. Altair had decked him in the face, and the two had left rather quickly after that fiasco. They checked in at the United Airlines booth and headed for their gate.

"Remind me again why I can't wear my hidden blade?" whispered Altair in Arabic, eyes darting around ceaselessly. If she hadn't known better, Lacrima would have sworn that Altair was nervous.

"Because it denotes you as an obvious assassin."

"But I can shank anybody in the way with it!"

"How would we get on the plane and where did you learn the word 'shank'?"

"We would fight our way on and hold the pilots hostage and Desmond mentioned the word once."

-sigh- "Altair, you're hopeless."

"Alright guys, can you hear me?" whispered a voice in their ears. Altair nearly jumped.

"Yeah, we can hear you," Lacrima muttered back. "How're we transmitting?"

"Don't talk so loud, just hum the words, it'll be less obtrusive and it hurts my ears when you talk. Also, for future, reference, you can call me CK from now on."

"Cool, so what do we do now?" asked Lacrima.

"Clearly, you can't go through security. They'd recognize you in a heartbeat. We've got a man on the inside, so what you need to do is move to Maintenance Tunnel 8C. I've marked it on your minimap."

"Minimap? What minimap?" asked Altair. "We have no map!"

"On your phone, sir," said CK, "There's an app called 'mGPS'. It provides a map of the area based on satellite imagery and any blueprints we have of the buildings in the area. The GPS function is based off of triangulation from various 6G transmitters in the area. There are typically several, so the location is usually fairly accurate. The location you need to get to is marked as a glowing yellow dot. Your position is marked with a green dot. Any allies that have linked to your phone are blue dots, and the last known position of an enemy unit is marked with a red dot. Got it?"

"Ummm…," Altair grimaced, looking at Lacrima, "no."

"Don't worry, I got it," said Lacrima, opening up the app with several prods of the touchscreen. "Alright, the objective is to our… left. Let's go, we only have an hour until boarding time."

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Lacrima and Altair strolled leisurely in the direction of the food court, apparently intent on finding some food before passing security. They each ordered a snack and sat down. Soon, they were accosted by a balding, fat man wearing a uniform labeled "MAINTENANCE".

"You guys looking for an eagle?" asked the man, whose name tag labeled him as being Bob Smith.

"Say that you're looking for the eagle that has no family," said CK. Altair cleared his throat, for it was a frightful thing to know that SO MANY PEOPLE knew your name, let alone, the MEANING of your name.

"Yes, we are looking for the eagle that has no family," he repeated dutifully.

"Oh. In that case, come with me," said Bob. Rather perplexed by this unusual exchange, Lacrima and Altair exchanged glances of unease and suspiciously followed their grease-stained "friend". He discretely opened a maintenance door labeled "8C".

"Well, we have the right door at least," said Altair.

"I think the eagle's down stairs," said Bob. "I have other business to attend to, so good day to you both." He waddled off. Altair stared after him.

"Your era uses very strange informants," he remarked, before descending the steps into Maintenance Tunnel 8C.

"….LOADING

….LOADING

…ERROR. No signal available, please try again later," said the animatronic and altogether disturbing voice of the computer.

"I'm GLAD to hear it," muttered Lacrima, following close to Altair. "Will we get cake at the end?"

"Unfortunately, the delicious cake I baked you was stolen and taken to Mexico. You'll have to eat it there."

"Oh, joy."

Altair gave her one of those "have you gone loopy?" looks.

"What?"

"Are you obsessed with cake or something?"

"I'm a baker. I bake cakes for a living. Yes I'm obsessed."

The pair of slightly disgruntled adventurers emerged onto a screaming tarmac. And by screaming, we mean jet engines. A private business jet with its door open waited on the parkway adjacent to their door. Another man wearing a screaming yellow jacket waved them over.

"THIS IS YOUR FLIGHT!" he shouted over the engines. "WELCOME TO BLANKETYBLANK AIRLINES!"

"IS THAT-?"

"SAVE YOUR QUESTIONS FOR THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS!" Yellow Jacket Man replied. He bustled them up the steps, which closed behind them.

"Welcome to BlanketyBlank Airlines, flight number BB1048!" said the overly cheery flight attendant. "My name is Anna and I'll be your flight attendant for today! Before we begin our flight, Federal Law requires us to-.."

"Anna, we know the law. We know the security procedures. We will testify that you said these procedures. Please get us some Champagne," said Altair. "Is our luggage on board?"

"Your luggage was surreptitiously whisked away from the Airport's security. It is in the luggage hold as we speak!"

Altair and Lacrima moved to their seats.

"Do you really know the law?"

"No, but it got her to shut up."

Lacrima giggled quietly.

The flight was supremely uninteresting. Altair found the onboard entertainment interesting for all of eight minutes before he decided that it failed. Lacrima napped.

Before they knew it, they were landing at a private strip in Mexico.

"We'll wait for you here. Do you have everything you need?" said the pilot.

"Yes, yes, thank you," said Lacrima. "Our luggage is in the terminal, I guess?"

"Yep. As I said, we'll wait for you on the tarmac. That way, we run quickly if we need to."

Such a comforting thought.

After getting a room and... "relaxing" for an hour, Lacrima and Altair changed into more utilitarian clothing. Lacrima put on a white jacket (stain and water proof), a pair of dark jeans, and a dark-green shirt. Altair also changed into a pair of dark jeans and a dark-green t-shirt, then strapped his knives, sword, machete-thing, and hidden blade on, before throwing a long, white coat over it all.

"You don't look conspicuous at all," said Lacrima. "Why not just wear the hoodie?"

"A good assassin does not need to be invisible," said Altair. "A good assassin needs only to hide in plain sight."

"And being conspicuous will help that how?" asked Lacrima, strapping a dagger onto her belt.

"I need not hide in only crowds," said Altair, checking his throwing knives for rust. "Nobody ever actually looks at the roof, do they?"

"And...?" Lacrima clipped a phone-carrier onto her belt as well, securely fastening the iPhone within. Altair sighed.

"If nobody looks up, I need only stand on top of roofs to be unseen," he said, giving his sword an experimental twirl before sliding it back into its sheath, then unsheathing the machete-thing, all in one fluid movement. Finding that all his weapons were in good order, Altair put the hood on the coat up, then buttoned the second and third buttons.

Altogether, he rather greatly resembled his old self back in Masyaf.

"You need to wear that more often," said Lacrima, also ready. "It'd looovve to take it all off again..."

"We'll do that to celebrate our success, hmm?" said Altair, kissing Lacrima. "But first, our job awaits." He walked to the window.

"Where are you going?"

"To work." He opened the window, slashed out the screen, and leaped down. Lacrima gasped, running to it and looking out for Altair's unconscious body.

"Hey! Up here!" yelled Altair. Lacrima looked up.

"How'd you get up there?"

"I climbed. Come on up, you can do it to!" Lacrima gulped.

"Aiiiiii'm not too sure about that..." she said, staring down at the ground far, far away.

"You'll be fine! You have it in your blood!" Slightly encouraged, Lacrima inched her way out. The wood paneling of the building felt rough under her finger-tips. She searched for a hand hold and pulled herself up. She was now standing on the window sill. Squeezing her eyes shut, she reached again, grabbed, and pulled. Reach, grab, pull. Reach, grab, pull. Then all of sudden, she was clambering onto the roof, gasping from the tension.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Altair. "And look, you'd have missed an amazing view!" Lacrima looked around. The building they were standing on happened to be on a hill. Even though the hotel was only three stories high, it's elevated position allowed them to see the entirety of the small airstrip behind them, the surrounding countryside, and a nearby village. Lacrima's head set rang. Quickly, she hit the "accept" button.

"Right, the contact is driving up from that village up ahead," said CK. "He's got the peppers in a truck. You'll have to give him the money for the peppers and drive the truck up to the plane, then load the peppers and run for it." Altair sighed.

"Not unlike many of the missions I had to do back in Masyaf," he said, looking over the edge for a convenient stack of soft objects. Ah-ha!

"Lacrima, I hope you don't mind the smell of garbage," said Altair taking her by the waist.

"Wait, what?" Altair jumped over the edge, twisting in mid-air and landing safely. Lacrima screamed the whole way

"Next time, no screaming," said Altair, pulling her out of the trash. Lacrima grumbled and didn't reply.

"So CK, why are we changed into our Assassin gear?"

"Odds are that he's being chased by Templars. In fact, I do believe that this is the man driving up now."

"Huh?" asked Lacrima, peering toward the road as the roaring of a engine approached.

Then a Ford Pickup came flying over the hill, chased by two Land Rovers, Templars with assault rifles hanging out the window.

"Lacrima, hang back. I got this," said Altair, readying three throwing knives. Steady... steady... now! The blades whistled through the air, faster than the eye could see. Three Templar gunners fell dead as Altair unsheathed his dagger and ran towards the cars.

"Oh HELL no!" yelled Lacrima, unsheathing her dagger as well and chasing after. "I am NOT being left behind as the weak little girl again!" The pickup swerved toward them, the driver desperately trying to not get hit by the flying bullets. Thinking quickly, Altair jumped up, sprang off the hood, flipped in mid air, and came crashing onto the windshield of the first Land Rover. Glass flying around him, he hoisted the terrified driver and smiled maliciously.

"Hello darling," he said false-sweetly. "Would you like me to shove my knife into your sheath?"

"N-no?" stammered the driver as the car swerved wildly toward the hotel.

"Wrong answer," growled Altair, stabbing the unfortunate man viciously in the face, then dragging the blade downward, cracking the skull into two parts. Idly, he threw the now very much not alive driver into the fast approaching hotel wall, the skull shattering satisfyingly, before jumping off the roof of the car, flipping again, and landing in a crouch as the car crunched into the wall at 80 miles per hour, compacting the front and launching the two lackeys, who hadn't been wearing seat belts, forward, snapping various bones and killing them instantly. Stood up, brushing dirt off his pants and wiping the blood off his knife with a rag he pulled out of a pocket.

"Well, that went well."

Meanwhile, Lacrima was having slightly more trouble. Running on instinct derived from her ancestry, Lacrima also managed the trick of jumping onto the moving Land Rover. Problematically, her landing wasn't powerful enough to shatter the glass of the windshield. Rolling her eyes and determinedly NOT looking at the ground whizzing past, she balance-beamed her way over to the sun roof and peered in.

She was almost shot by a Templar.

"YEEK!" she yelled, stumbling backwards. Taking the initiative, said Templar poked his head out, ready to fire.

It was his last mistake.

Lacrima kicked out in a futbol penalty kick ((RED CARD FOR TEAM ASSASSIN)), launching the gun, a Glock pistol, flying. Spinning in place, she lashed out with the dagger, cutting the man's face open, spraying blood everywhere as he screamed horribly. Ignoring the blood and screaming, Lacrima dropped into the passenger compartment and quickly stabbed another Templar in the wrist as he went to shoot her. Stealing his gun, Lacrima aimed at the dashboard and fired, barely able to control the recoil. At such close range, however, it was basically impossible to miss. The bullets traveled easily through the un-bulletproofed dashboard and radio, crashing into the engine and royally screwing it over as gasoline and motor-oil spewed out of the cylinders. There was a muffled *BOOM* as one of the cylinders blew, denting the hood from the inside out. Lacrima paled. She quickly pistol-whipped the driver, stunning him, before opening the passenger door and leaping out, rolling to cushion her fall. Behind her, the Land Rover exploded, gasoline catching fire in a horrible chain reaction, throwing shrapnel everywhere that perforated the gas tank, causing the gasoline in there to ignite and overpressure, blowing what used to be a perfectly good car into a flaming hulk.

Altair watched from across the way.

"I am SO turned ON right now!" he muttered, face going slightly red. Stamping down the urge to pin Lacrima to the ground and screw her brains out, he strode over in a dignified way, sheathing his dagger, and offered Lacrima a hand.

"How'd I do?" she asked, battered and bruised but overall ecstatic.

"Eh, coulda been better," he said. Lacrima smiled at his slight blush.

"Oh, I think I did better than that," she said, smiling devilishly, pulling him close. "Maybe we should celebrate my success...?" She looked thoughtful for a moment as Altair got progressively redder and... more excited. "Nah," she said, letting go of Altair, who crashed to the ground. Lacrima ran over to the truck driver.

"Hey! We just saved your ass! Give us all the peppers for free!" she yelled as she ran up. The truck driver stumbled out of the car.

"Screw that! You can have the truck! I quit!" he yelled, running for the hills. Lacrima watched bemusedly.

"Okay!" she eventually called after him, waving. "Thanks!"

The flight back was also uneventful. After loading the peppers, Lacrima and Altair had decided to celebrate Lacrima's badass takedown in the hotel on the presumption of "air conditioning is good and planes are noisy". And by celebrate, we mean had wild, passionate sex for several hours. But of course you knew that. Later, dressed in more comfortable clothes for the trip back, they boarded the plane and slept the entire way back, too tuckered out by their... celebratory activities to stay awake. An assassin van was waiting for them on the tarmac when they arrived. The peppers were loaded, Altair and Lacrima got in the back, and the driver chauffeured them back to their residence, where they had a few drinks to toast a mission well done, then had more celebratory activities involving a bed and an absence of clothing.

'ZE END!

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I definitely rushed the ending and Lacrima and Altair are almost certainly out of character. Do you care? NO! Because it was LOLZY. Thanks for reading, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW

-ElvenSpear


	37. The End, part 1

_Hey! This is __**Sono la Notte, **__formerly known as __**lolcats-r-hot,**__here to inform all you readers:_

_The end is near._

_This is not a joke._

_The world will end._

_I'm not saying when, but it is closer than you think._

_No one can save you._

_Not me, not god, not those who came before._

_There is no hope._

_No escape._

_Don't even think of trying to stop it._

_It's best you just sit back and take it like a man._

_Children will cry._

_Lives will be lost._

_Betrayals will be made._

_And best of all…_

_This story will document it up until the end, and even after._

_So just letting you know._

_There's only a few more chapters left. We're currently backed up here in BetaLand, but chapters should flow out soon._

_At least, if the world doesn't end before then._


	38. Burning Love

_ZOMG TWO POSTS IN A DAY! WHAT SORCERY IS THIS!_

**Disclaimer: Don't tell anyone, but I stole it from Patrice Desilets when he was sleeping...you have no IDEA what I had to do to get it...loljkjk**

* * *

DESMOND POV

Lucy showed me where the armory was once Altaïr and Lacrima had told us they were leaving for Mexico. I could only imagine what was going to happen there…

So apparently, there was an even _bigger_ armory than Rakminov's. It was concealed within one section of the outer wall, hidden under a giant, rusty metal door. Lucy had gained all sorts of security access for us both, so we were able to go virtually anywhere we pleased in this underground facility.

The man at the front, Leo, waved us in, radioing up to a control tower (that also controlled overhead lights, electric flow, and the elevator coming down from the parking structure) to open the door. Lucy and I walked in silently, not having much to say to each other, as always. She found a golf cart and we zoomed further into the black expanse, lined with many tunnels and doors and hallways. An illuminated sign pointed back to where we had come from, marked 'EXIT' in big green neon letters. I sighed loudly. I wanted to talk to Lucy, but I didn't know what to say.

The second I opened my mouth, though, Lucy interrupted, looking straight ahead. "Here we are." She said, parking the tiny cart to the side of the large tunnel. We were waved in again, to a hallway, and Lucy grabbed a cart and sped away, albeit too quickly. I jogged after her, and when I caught up with her, I finally noticed that her pale skin was possibly even paler in this lighting. Was it just me, or was I forgetting what the sun looked like?

"Uh…" I started, suddenly at a loss for words. Lucy instead began gnawing on her lip, a nervous habit I'd seen both in Lacrima and in her, recently. "Are you alright?" I asked, trying to meet her blue eyes.

"I'm fine, Desmond. Let's just get this over with." She said with a sigh. I decided I wouldn't have it. I rested my hand atop hers on the cart, and she stopped when I tugged back. "Desmond, what do you—?" I cut her off by taking her arms from the cart, and wrapping them around my neck. They were cold, but it didn't matter. I just kept looking straight at her, waiting for the wall to cave. Once I'd made sure they were secure around me, I rested my hands on her slender hips, my thumbs massaging the soft skin there. Lucy's face was still expressionless, but I could see her swallow roughly, her eyes wavering, and her lower lip twitching.

I moved my face forward, about two or three inches, until we were breathing each others' breaths. I kissed her softly, hesitantly, and pulled back after a second or two. My eyes widened in fear when I saw hers had tears streaming out of them. "Lucy, what's wrong?" I asked immediately. "Was it something I did?" I asked, my voice cracking a bit at the end.

She shook her head, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. She let out a shuddering breath and held me closer. I could only welcome the embrace, but my heart was beating almost reluctantly in my chest. I couldn't bear to see Lucy as upset as this.

"I don't want to lose you." She mumbled into my chest, her tiny hands gripping the back of my neck like a lifeline. I brought my hands upward, to rest atop her shoulder blades.

"And you won't. I promise."

* * *

LACRIMA POV

After we returned to the underground base, we had someone radio in our presence. Immediately, four or five big, burly men came in, and they each took one duffel bag of the peppers (Altaïr _insisted_ he take two _all by himself_) down to the castle, where they'd be processed and put into their respective blast containers. Of course, I had to convince Altaïr that he _needed_ to go back to the _house_ with _me_, we needed to _rest_…and of course, "resting" happened. Actually, that had been happening quite a lot lately. I didn't know if it was the stress of being underground or not, but it was most definitely…gratifying.

So after a couple of hours, Altaïr and I were finally beginning to _actually_ doze off, when something struck him. "I don't want to go back to my time." He said, stroking my back lightly. I would've been wide awake if it weren't for his actions, to be true. But at this statement, I looked up at him from my spot on his chest.

"I don't want you to go back either." I whispered, unable to speak any louder because my throat was all choked up. I curled my fingers between his, and held them up to him. "You see this?" I said, propping myself up against him slightly. "This will always be ours. No matter what happens, no matter who wants to tear us apart. I may hate you, or you may hate me, but," I felt myself physically remember the events of the prophecy, of him and the whip… "I'll always…" I couldn't bring myself to say the rest of the sentence. It seemed so close, on the edge of my tongue…I couldn't say it. "This will always be ours." I said, turning my head away from him.

"No." he said, sitting up. I rolled to the side, my eyes wide. What was he doing? "This isn't going to happen again. You were going to say something, right before we were going to see the Grand Master. And now…you have no distractions, no interruptions." He said. I felt my throat go dry and my heart swell to twice its size.

"Altaïr…" I said, looking up at him. "I can say it in so many languages, but I don't…I can't…" I bit my lip, my scar suddenly itching. "I…I don't want this to be for nothing." I said, looking down. Altaïr's hand scooped my chin up, so I had to meet his eyes. His bright gold ones were concerned, and urging me to go on.

"Say what you want to say." He whispered. His other hand grasped one of mine, a symbol of trust and protection.

I stared deeply at him. "I love you." I said once. I didn't have to say it again, because suddenly, my heart was beating rapidly. I was holding my breath, and felt a little dizzy. My grip loosened on Altaïr's hand, but his tightened.

Altaïr said nothing, but he gave the best answer. With a kiss to rival that of Romeo and Juliet's, he poured forth every ounce of passion and affection I didn't think possible from him. I felt myself go limp and my joints felt like they were made of gelatin. I could only wrap my other arm around Altaïr, pulling him closer to me. My body was on fire. Altaïr slipped his hand around my neck, smiling—no, _grinning_—into the kiss. I pulled back (all too begrudgingly) from it, and stared at him hard. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because I was wondering how long it'd take you to say that." He said in a low voice. He kissed me again, and again…and again, until our lips were red and we were breathing raggedly. "I love you, too." He whispered, and the whole thing started again until someone shouted from downstairs. We both drew back, and Altaïr rose. Someone shouted again. He quickly slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and I did the same. We ran down the stairs, and found Desmond, with Lucy hovering over him, lying down on the floor. Rebecca and Shaun stood a little off to the side, Rebecca with a slightly concerned face, Shaun with a smirking one.

"What happened?" I asked. Lucy moved to the side, and I could see that Desmond had a bloody nose. His eyes were watering. "Desmond, are you okay?" I asked, rushing around Altaïr.

"He took a whiff of that pepper stuff." Said Lucy. Desmond only groaned and blew blood out his nose and into a nearby towel.

"I thought the entire thing had gone to the castle for packaging…?" I asked. Desmond shook his head.

Slurring, he said, "Jes's, wh't th' h'll's th't sh't?" he asked, the vowels drowned out in coughing and blood. I knew that inhaling the peppers would be bad, but not _this_ bad…Desmond started sneezing. I told anyone to go get me a fast-acting gas reducer.

"What good will that do?" asked Rebecca as Shaun left the room to go to the kitchen.

"It'll dilute the nerve endings in his throat, and neutralize the burn. The fat in the medicine will absorb even the most powerful peppers, which you have seemed to just inhale." I said, looking sternly down at Desmond.

* * *

DESMOND POV (obligatory)

Fire, fire, FIIIIIRE!

* * *

ALTAÏR POV

As Lacrima took over Lucy's station, I got to see her work in action. She had taken charge, and I pulled Lucy back towards me. "So just what _did_ Desmond do with that powder?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of Lacrima administer a white substance to Desmond.

"A bet gone wrong, I suppose. There was a bag of it on the counter, marked 'do not open', and you can only guess what Desmond did from there." Said Lucy.

"Where is the bag now?"

"Here," She said. I took the tiny plastic bag with the red powder inside it. I zipped it up tight (Lacrima had shown me how to do this a while ago—back when we were at her apartment in Boston) and stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans. Desmond was sitting up now, wiping away excess blood from his face. Apparently this 'gas reducer' had done its work. He was getting to his feet a moment later, and told everyone that he was going to go take a shower. I "offered" to help him up the stairs, my grip on his elbow secure and all the same painful for him. He had, in fact, just interrupted me and Lacrima in the middle of something special.

Once we'd gotten into the bathroom, I shoved Desmond in the shower. He threw his clothes and shoes over the top. I had to quickly sidestep out of the way to avoid the falling clothing. Once the water was on, I sat down on the seat of the toilet, wringing my hands until my knuckles went white. "Lacrima told me about the prophecy." I said, in a slightly elevated voice, so Desmond could hear me over the rush of the water.

Desmond was quiet for a minute before speaking up. "I suspected she would."

"She told me the outcome of what would happen if those events came to be." I said, folding my hands in front of me.

"And? What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"Everything." I said, getting up to leave.

* * *

LACRIMA POV

"Christ, I can't wait until Thursday." Said Rebecca. All of us were thinking the same thing—Thursday was the day we were going to infiltrate the White House. It was Monday now, and we were being flown in by helicopter tomorrow. Lucy said there was a Sanctuary near the White House, an old church that had been there since the rebuilding of the White House a good three hundred years ago. One of the sewer lines led straight to it, from the White House. This would be our exit route. All of our weaponry had just been sent out to the DC Bureau, where we'd be landing.

"You've only said that twelve times, now, Rebecca." Said Shaun from one of the other couches, dozing lightly. We were all trying to get our energy up for this mission. I was more nervous than anyone, seeing as I hadn't even killed anyone—at least, killed someone that had stayed dead for more than a couple of hours.

"I need to bake something." I announced in a preoccupied voice, getting up and going to the kitchen. I pulled out the remaining flour and sugar and other ingredients and mindlessly started making a cake. I saw a bowl of blueberries and carried them out to the other assassins. "Are these anyone's?" I asked, holding them up. Two or three exhausted faces looked over and shook their heads, so I put them in a food processor and dumped them into the mixture. The smell of blueberries hung low in the kitchen; the scent would lift with the cake. I finished preparing the batter and stuck it into the preheated oven, not bothering to set the timer. I then lay down on the counter, facing the ceiling. There had been so much boredom these last two weeks. For the last three days, I had been making dinner, and every other meal for whoever was here. Either Rebecca and Shaun were gone, getting their Animus locked up safely, or Lucy and Desmond were gone, getting our armor and weaponry for the siege on Thursday. I checked the calendar by swiveling my head to the side, and saw that it was the seventeenth. It had been over two months since my life had been turned around by the Altaïr and the Assassins. This life felt familiar, comfortable. I considered these people my friends and family, and I had fallen in love with someone I never imagined to. The fact that everything could be taken away in a moment made me light on my feet, and I tried to make everything the best it could possibly be. I sighed loudly and sat up on the edge of the counter, holding my head in my hands. Something was giving me a headache, and I didn't know what.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked from the door. I looked over. It was Desmond. He was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He had a slight pink tinge to his cheeks, and a faint smile lingered on his lips. He had obviously just been with Lucy, doing God-knows what.

I sighed again, and looked idly at the oven. "Fine. Just tired." I said, trying to look on the bright side of things. We _were_ saving the world, right?

"Tired?" Desmond asked, baffled. "None of us have done _anything_ these last few days!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the counter with me.

"I know…it's just…" I sighed again, my head throbbing. "I think I screwed up again." I admitted, my mind clearing.

"Screwed up what…?" asked Desmond, his voice turning serious.

"I think another part of the prophecy came true. The day of the meeting with the Master." I saw his eyes cloud with thought, then widen in realization.

"I remember. Jesus, this thing is playing with our minds." Said Desmond, running his hand through his hair. "I don't want any of that last part to come true." He said, staring straight ahead. A sudden memory of golden air and whips raced through my mind, and I felt my back stiffen.

"I'm sorry." I said, hanging my head. "Most of the things that have happened so far were all my fault." I said, my voice filled with despair at the truth of the statement. Desmond rested a hand on my back.

"We just have to keep on our toes, is all." He said, not assuring me with an 'it'll all get better, it's not your fault' as he should have. But obviously I wasn't the only one blaming myself.

"Right." I said. Desmond dropped his hand after another minute and sat watching the cake rise, like I was. An internal timer went off in my head, and I hopped down, making Desmond jump at the lack of notification. I slipped on some potholders and checked the consistency. It was perfect. The entire room now smelled like warm blueberries. As the cake cooled, everyone in the house, eventually dragged themselves into the kitchen, making nice conversation with me as to bribe a piece early. I shook my head, smiling and taking out the plates.

Dinner (dessert, really) passed along with minimal conversation, no one really paying attention to anyone, with the exception of whoever they were having sex with. I held Altaïr's hand under the table. He was the only one that knew my hand was shaking with nervousness at tomorrow's events.

* * *

DESMOND POV

A messenger came by early the next morning. We were all up, jittery with nerves and excitement. The young man, about eighteen but no older, said that the Grand Master wished us luck. Lucy's eyes got wider, and drank three more cups of watery coffee (we had just ran out at the second pot) before we were ready to go.

A long trek to the hill which we started on gave us time to rethink our lives, if we hadn't done that the night before. I kept remembering things from my childhood, about how God was a lie fed to us by people who needed money. I wished I hadn't been told that. I wished I had someone to pray to so that I would make it out alive. But on top of that, I prayed to whatever god that could hear me that Lucy was safe. Always safe.

I remembered something from a book I had read while in the Assassin Compound: 'We can avoid just about anything these days, except for Death.' I really hoped that was the truth.

Once we were in the elevator that took us up to the roof where the helicopter was waiting, Lucy began talking.

"Okay, the ride down to our DC Bureau is going to take about three hours, not bad for the tight protocol we're under. Once we get to the Bureau, we'll stay until Thursday, the day—"

"Lucy, shut up." Everyone said, except me. She bit her lip nervously, and I grasped her hand. A second later, the elevator _ding_ed open and the Grand Master was _right there_. All of us inhaled sharply, and dropped hands with whoever we were next to before he looked down. Lucy piped up again, much to everyone's despair.

"Master." She saluted, with a forced smile.

"Ah, Miss Stillman." He smiled, and gestured us out the door. "I was just coming to see you off." We all nodded as enthusiastically as physically possible, which were instead just a couple of sad little nods. The giant Chinook helicopter stood a couple of yards off. The sunlight was dull, and the day was a typical foggy November morning in Boston. The Grand Master wore sunglasses.

"Thank you, sir…" as she babbled to the heavy man, I caught the eye of Lacrima, who was hooked to Altaïr like a fish. She was walking towards the helicopter, and attempting to explain it to Altaïr. Her attention was diverted, and Altaïr caught this, looking in my direction as well. I broke eye contact, walking along next to Shaun and Rebecca, slyly twining their fingers around each others'.

Once we were up in the air, Altaïr started just flipping _out_. Sure, he'd been on an airplane before, but he couldn't believe that we were this high off the ground and not _falling_. I tuned the conversation out ("Lacrima! There's…is that a cow?") and tried to concentrate on the whirring motors all around me.

Before I knew that we had exited Massachusetts, we were in Maryland, and I swear, I could see the tip of what remained of the Washington Monument, that huge obelisk that had been bombed by terrorists in 2011. It only stood to be about two hundred feet high now. We turned left, and the Smithsonian was in sight. We were dressed to impress, looking like foreign dignitaries (if we had any left) but more like important people. There was a huge party at the White House on Friday, though, I added darkly, the President wouldn't be there to entertain.

Eventually we made our landing, on top of the Smithsonian Castle. We were escorted into the building, with our sunglasses on, all of us clutching our beaus to not be separated by the crowds. DC was one of the only big cities left; New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco were all down to about three million each, but DC was populated with eight million only in one district. It was crazy; when I'd read the paper that was delivered to the bar, I just reread it until Jord had yelled at me to open the damn doors.

"Desmond." Someone said, snapping me out of my reverie. I blinked. We were in a deserted exhibit room, and everyone was staring at me. "Are you alright?" asked the same person. It was Lacrima. Lucy was up ahead, talking to some man in a security uniform, but keeping her eyes on me.

I felt my face heat up at the attention I was getting. "I'm fine. Just thinking." I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and reverting into myself. Everyone resumed what they were saying or doing, and I leaned against one of the bars. I read the exhibit banner: _"Destroying Today for a New Tomorrow: A History of Chaos"_. One of the pictures were gruesome, a man with multiple gunshot wounds to his head, and his intestines strewn across the cement he was laying on. Altaïr was blocking Lacrima's view with his body; you couldn't see anything around it. Lucy came back.

"Hey." She said with a sigh and a smile. "Well, we're ready to go, so we'll just go through that door and we'll be in." she said, grabbing my hand. Obviously, her mood had lifted in the ride over here. We all filed into an almost-unnoticeable door under the word "Chaos" in the banner. We had to duck under it to get to the door.

The man in the suit waved a keycard over a black panel, and entered a seven-digit code. There was a _whirr-click_ and the door slid open, disappearing into one of the side panels like an elevator.

The room was, actually, and elevator. The man used his keycard again once we were all in the tiny room (Altaïr didn't like it; it was too small) and an unseen button made itself known. The man pressed this button, and did a fingerprint scan.

And once again, we began to go down, having no idea what to expect.

I see why Altaïr didn't like elevators.

* * *

_For some reason I think there were too many POV changes...I promise things will get more action-y later...maybe within the next two weeks? If I don't forget before then..._

_Review for quicker updates!_


	39. Shadow of the Cross

**Disclaimer: Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Unfortunately, Altair, Desmond, and other characters in the video game "Assassin's Creed" do not qualify as "men", since they are aspatial concepts. Hence, they cannot be emancipated and are the sole property of Ubisoft Montreal. **_(Thanks to The-Elven-Spear for this disclaimer!)_

* * *

I held Lacrima close to me while we were in the tiny, metal-plated room. It reminded me of the room I was in when Audrey Jacobs had broken me out—small, humid, and _way_ too crowded. It was hard to remember that we were under a large building with many different types of heavy-looking desks and paintings of famous dead people (though, according to what Lacrima told me, hadn't even been born yet) and other things that I was supposed to think of as large, not _heavy_. At least, Lacrima had told me that was the _polite_ thing to say. In my time, the greater you were, the _greater_ you were, in more ways than one. It was a sign of royalty if you were fat, but here it was a sign of ignorance or neglect for your body. Morals and meanings, lost in time and translation.

I toyed with my lover's hair, wishing it would grow out longer, like it had been. I don't like it short. She had washed out the temporary color in her hair as well, leaving it dark and beautiful and natural.

"We're not going all the way down, but we will if we're on lockdown. Which we will be after your mission is over." Obviously, this was a high-priority mission, and it didn't need explaining that we'd have over half the city looking for us when we escaped.

When we escaped. Such a good feeling, to hear guards and people wondering where you went, when you really just sat down or threw yourself into a humid roof garden. It makes you want to laugh, but you can't, because you'd just be repeating the process over again.

The metal doors in front of us slid open, and we walked through, and into the oddest place I'd ever been.

* * *

Imagine walking into a large mailroom. Maybe a Post Office instead, with all of the different little compartments holding people's porn or birthday cards or taxes. Phones were ringing, dozens and dozens of people were talking over one another, and everyone was constantly moving; a shark pit. I remember my first visit to a Post Office; it was strange. Well, everything was strange then. I was six.

Eventually I regained control of my legs and I began to follow the man who led us here (his name was Matt, and reminded me of coffee beans,and quite possibly plates as well) out of the elevator and into the chaos. A History Of Chaos, indeed…

Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, where they were going, and who they were going to see. It looked like a rat race, everyone struggling to be at some place in a certain time slot. Most of them were about my age or younger.

"This is our main floor. We run most communications from here, just tapping into the government's phone lines, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. This is where we communicate with the outside. We have our international branch ambassadors over there," he pointed to a place to the left, but only some of us looked. "And that is our national branch." He said, waving his arm around the rest of the room. "We're planning on breaking the barrier of communications to the outside world. This country is just not going to cut it these days. The public is scared, and it's a choice between nuclear war and mass suicides."

"Hopefully when we're done, there won't need to be." Said Altaïr from next to me. The team nodded and walked on. I've noticed that the little Altaïr _does_ say is wise and the perfect thing needed to be said in situations such as the ones we find ourselves running into.

We entered a quieter hallway, leading into a series of three doors. "Altaïr and Lacrima, room number one, Lucy and Desmond, room number two, and Shaun and Rebecca, room three. Rest up, someone will come to get you in the morning. You have a big day tomorrow." Matt smiled, and left, his shiny black shoes clicking away until a door shut behind him, leaving us in complete silence. We all looked at each other, as if this was the last time we would.

"Well. I for one plan on having lots of sex before we're called back." Said Shaun outrightly, making Rebecca blush when everyone laughed. We were all thinking the same thing. Sex was obviously the one thing to keep this pile of #!*% off our minds for at least a little while. We all bid each other our awkward adieus and retreated into our rooms.

Altaïr was all for just standing in the room and hugging me tightly, just talking to me, like we were the only ones in the world. Of course, with how it was making me feel (see warm, fuzzy, loved) I just stood there too, holding him at the mid-waist. He was warm, and our bodies melded comfortably. The room was completely silent, even with our companions doing the nasty in the next two rooms. "I really wonder how your hair is so beautiful…" he said to himself, playing with it idly.

"I was born with it." I said, shivering when his fingers touched my neck.

"And your eyes…" he tilted my chin up, so we were staring right at one another. "They're so familiar…I swear I've seen them before."

"Maybe it's fated." I said to him, smiling at our closeness. Altaïr's face drained of color. "What is it?" I asked, suddenly worried and frightened. Altaïr was never scared.

"Say that again." He said, his eyes not focused on me, but string off above me, remembering something, or trying to remember something.

"Maybe it's…fated?" I said slowly. "Altaïr, are you alright?" I asked, setting a hand on his arm.

"That…Marid said that. He always did. Where did you learn it?" he asked, looking me straight in the face.

"Where did I…what? Altaïr, I don't understand, I just…I don't know what you're talking about." I insisted, confused. "A lot of people say it."

"No. He said it just like that, and he always smiled right after, like you did." I was perplexed. Was this some sort of joke? What was he saying?

"What are you getting at?" I asked, pulling back for a moment. I bit my lip.

"I don't know…it's just…strange." He said, looking away. "I'm sorry I scared you." He said, pulling me into a tight hug. I tried to play it off like everything was okay, that I was okay, but I wasn't as good an actress as I thought I was. "Lacrima…" he said, kissing my forehead lightly, his scar clearly outlined on my nerves. Either that or I just knew his lips so well that I could find the scar in a dark room.

"Altaïr…I don't ever want you to go back. I know it's selfish, but we _belong_ together. And if the gods sent you to me, then I don't—" Altaïr cut me off with a kiss.

He pulled away and said, "I'm yours." He whispered. "In all forms of time."

* * *

After Lucy and I had fallen asleep, I had a terrible dream.

The world was dark; I couldn't see where I was, or who I was, or what I was. I didn't know how to think, but someone was singing to me through the darkness itself: "_Soldier, keep walking. Soldier, quit talking about freedom in this time and place. Freedom is not a space to hide in. So Soldier, keep marching. While your shoulder keeps arching back to see the sun. Soldiers, keep dying. Soldiers, keep trying to dream of free…of freedom…"_

The song was cut short by a horrible chorus of screams and a great burst of heat and light. I looked around. A searing pain was on my chest, bleeding into my heart. I cried out in pain, but I made no noise. I grasped at the spot on my chest that hurt most, but this only made it worse, and I screamed a soundless scream. The singers were screaming _"FREEDOM, FREEDOM, FREEDOM…" _and it made my ears ring.

There were suddenly eyes on me, and I opened my own wider, looking around frantically. All I saw was a wide-brimmed hat, a trench coat, and the shadows that covered both of them. The dark figure was silent and feral, and I felt scared. But I knew this person. I knew I did.

The silhouette fell upon me and I shot up from sleep, gasping.

"Desmond?" asked Lucy, turning on a light. My hands felt slick and wet, and when I held them up in the light, they were covered in blood. I gasped in surprise. I looked down at my chest; there was a giant bleeding cross across it. My jaw dropped and I started screaming. Lucy dashed for the door, barely dressed. The blood and stinging was everywhere, and I couldn't think.

Immediately, three people rushed in: Altaïr, Shaun, and Rebecca. Where was Lacrima? Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Lacrima never left Altaïr's side. Shaun told Rebecca to go find Matt and she left the room. Lucy had a wet towel, warm from the faucet, and she lay it on my chest. I screamed louder, for it hurt more than the pain itself. Water was leaking around my ribs and arms, and it felt like warm, wet blood. I felt dizzy, and I started hyperventilating.

More people walked in, and someone else started working with me. Their hands were gentler, more experienced. I heard a question of "Where's Lacrima?" ring through the room, but no one answered. This didn't help me at all.

Suddenly, my hands were being wiped free of the blood, and I was being dried off and bandaged. My mind calmed its pace, and I found Lucy's trembling hand on the bed. I squeezed it reassuringly. The medic, or whoever, finally left, and Matt's voice spoke up. "Desmond, can you hear me?" he asked.

"Yeah." I said. For a second I didn't realize I had actually said anything, for my voice was so hoarse.

"What happened?" he asked. I could hear him cross his arms.

"Bad dreams." I coughed, and someone placed a cup of water to my lips gently. I drank it slowly, and tried to sit up. A firm hand was placed on my shoulder, holding me down before I could get a couple of inches off the bed.

"You don't want to do that." Advised Altaïr, looking down at me. Lucy rubbed circles on the back of my hand, calming me down further. I nodded at Altaïr, remembering the bandages on my chest.

"Jesus, did _I _do that to myself?" I asked aloud as a slight stinging came into my range of feeling.

"Seems so, we caught you quite literally, ahem, _red_ handed." Said Shaun from a corner, trying to slip out quietly with Rebecca but to no avail; his big mouth gave him away. Matt turned to them as I groaned at the pun.

"Will you two go and see what's keeping the search party?" he snapped at the drowsy couple. They nodded all the same and left.

"What search party?" I asked, swiveling my head so I could see Matt better. He was wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and no shirt, revealing finely-toned muscles, crafted with years and years of training and experience in the field. Now, I was no flub, but I swear, being that ripped is sometimes scary.

"Lacrima went missing about an hour before you woke up." Said Lucy, yet again more filled in on things than I was. "From what Altaïr has told me so far, she left no note, only that she had said she was going to the bathroom."

"Obviously not." Mumbled the Assassin in question. His posture was slumped, and his arms were crossed over his chest. I knew him well enough to know that he was beating himself up for this. I wanted to say something to bring his mood back up, but I was cut off by Matt before I could even think of something.

"We're currently checking our security footage, following her. From what I last checked, she was somewhere in the International wing."

* * *

I had no idea what I was doing. Something had just woke me up, and now, I was going through files at close to three in the morning. So much for "resting up". What was I looking for? One phrase had attached to me: First Apple. I didn't know what it meant, or where the thought even _came_ from. But it was important. I knew that. It was so vastly important, I could feel it in every cell in my body; stinging with the need to know.

"LACRIMAAA…" someone called outside the office I had broken into. I typed quicker on the keyboard, reading at close to the speed of light. Words flashed through my mind: _savior…fate…lost before AD years…_and when someone walked in, I was already deleting my history, leaving no back trail of what I'd seen. I stood up, facing the man in front of me. It was Shaun. "I've found her!" he called out the door. We locked eyes, and I shook my head slightly. _Don't tell._

Footsteps clambered their way to the office, the silhouettes playing against the etched glass. Faces peeked in around Shaun, me and him still locked in a stare. He nodded his head ever-so-slightly, and I breathed out. I walked forward towards the group, hearing their frantic questions but not understanding them I put on a smile. "I'm fine. Sorry I worried you. I just…went for a walk." I said, laughing. The rest of the group did as well, all of them relieved and sighing. They patted me on the back, and started to walk back to bed.

"I'll take her back. You all go back to sleep." Said Shaun, instructing the novices to go. They all fled under his commanding stare. "You gonna tell me what the #!*% that was for?" asked Shaun. I crossed my arms and didn't answer, my mind still flooding with the vast amount of information I'd just taken in. What _was_ the First Apple? Nothing had really told me, but it was obviously a tool used for saving the world. I didn't know whether or not to tell anyone. I didn't even know if I wanted to tell Altaïr.

Rebecca caught up with us, and immediately launched into a story of how the group of novices she had taken out were half-asleep and more useful than…I didn't know what they were more useful than because I lost her there, my thoughts returning to me. Why had _I_ thought of the First Apple? What about…

"Where's Desmond and the others?" I asked in what seemed close to a whisper, but too loud for me. Shaun and Rebecca paled. What had happened?

"Er…you'll find out when you get there." Said Shaun, looking straight ahead. I became worried.

"What happened, Shaun? Tell me!" I exclaimed, my hands clenching into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"He…he's been hurt." Said Rebecca, saving Shaun. With those words, I broke out into a run, turning down a dark corridor and into a dim hallway with a light at the end. This was Desmond and Lucy's room. "Lacrima…!" called Shaun and Rebecca, their voices echoing behind me, in front of me, around me. Some heads turned around to see me.

I pushed past Altaïr, Lucy, and Matt, trying to get to a bandaged Desmond on the bed. He had a big white gauze pad secured to his chest, but I could see places where it had bled out. "Desmond." I breathed. "Are you okay?" I asked. His eyes were lidded, but he was awake.

"I'm alright now. What happened to you, you pulled a Harry Houdini on all of us?" He laughed. Altaïr set a hand on my shoulder, irritated at my disappearance.

"I just needed to walk around." I said, shrugging my shoulders of the suddenly unbearable weight on me. Altaïr slid his hand to my waist instead, but a weight remained. I could _feel_ Shaun's eyes on me.

"Don't worry everyone like that. Altaïr was going to have a heart attack." I looked up at Altaïr, his eyes confused but somewhat understanding. He didn't know what a heart attack was, but he must've noticed the way Desmond actually said it, to know that it was bad. His grip slipped to around to pull me closer to him.

"We'll talk in the morning. Desmond needs to rest, the doctor said." I nodded once and let Altaïr lead me by the hand out of the room, not even giving me a second to tell Desmond to feel better. Once we were in our room with the door shut, Altaïr whirled on me. "Where were you?" he exclaimed.

I was shocked at his reaction to me being gone. "I was going for a walk, Altaïr. I wanted to be alone. I'm sure you can understand." I said, my anger level flickering inside me. I turned towards him, crossing my arms. His face was one of concern and irritation, like when a parent scolds a child.

"I know you'd like to be alone, it's understandable at a time like this, but you can't just go wandering off in the middle of the night, Lacrima. These people are _dangerous_." I rolled my eyes before he could say anything more.

"You think all _those_ people are dangerous? Take a look at yourself! At any moment, you might flash back into your world, and who knows if I might go with you? It's really hard to look at you and _not_ think that. And it's hard for me to love something only temporary. Because I've been hurt before." I said the last part accidentally, and I bit down on my lip hard and grasped my arm hard, the faint burning of the scar the only thing keeping me from breaking down. Altaïr caught on this, his eyes getting wide.

"Lac—"

"Just go back to sleep Altaïr." I said, getting into the bed. I didn't protest when he slept rather close to me, but I was saddened by how I was acting. I shouldn't be so hard on him. He was more confused in this new world than I was, and that was saying a lot. I just couldn't bring myself to say

"I'm sorry."

Altaïr rolled over, and his arm slithered around my waist. "I know." He whispered in my ear, stroking my hair behind my ear. I turned around in his hold, facing him. Even in the dark, I could find the place where his eyes met mine, a faint glowing of gold in the pitch blackness. He kissed me softly, and said, "You can keep things from me; just don't lie to me." He said, and I started to cry.

* * *

I didn't know why Lacrima was crying, but it seemed to make her fall asleep. I held her in my arms, perplexed at this woman. I was slightly annoyed at her for leaving without really telling me where she was going, but it was like learning a new language: it takes a while to pick up on the more familiar words, and it's strange when you hear new words. You immediately want to know what it meant.

Where had Lacrima gone? What had she done? Had she seen someone, was that why she was crying? I thought about this idly as I stroked her hair with my fingers. She shifted her body closer to mine, and I could feel her breath on my chest. It was warm, soft, and even. She was in a deep sleep. She sighed contentedly. A good dream. Her face was calm, a faint smile on her beautiful lips. I secured her closer to me, and I could feel her heart beat against mine.

Needless to say, I was asleep in seconds.

* * *

_Ohhhh my goodness it's good to post again._

_Review, my lovelies, and you won't get another year-long hiatus!_

_PS. This story is now in the 100,000 word category!_


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